


Under a Steele Dark Sky: Steeling a Dream Part Two

by SteeleHoltingOn



Series: Diamonds of Steele/Two Holts 'Verse [2]
Category: Remington Steele (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-29
Updated: 2009-07-29
Packaged: 2018-08-08 05:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7744531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteeleHoltingOn/pseuds/SteeleHoltingOn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura and Remington return to Los Angeles.  They struggle to cope with the fallout from Ireland as they make a thrilling discovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolouge

_“Mr. Carlisle?”_  
  
_“Yes, Riley?”_  
  
_“I’ve got a lead on that girl in the restaurant.”  The young man crossed over to Johnny Carlisle’s desk_ _and dropped a newspaper on it.  The headlines of the local paper out of Cork, Ireland, read “Steele_  
_Alive.”  A clear photo of Remington and Laura Steele at the Cork Airport graced the cover as well._

 _The slim man, sporting graying brown hair and steel blue eyes, gave the picture a thorough perusal._ _He thought again of the pretty young woman who’d adroitly approached him in a London restaurant._  
_For two thousand dollars, she’d given him a tip worth gold: that Interpol had captured Denis O’_ _Callaghan and was on Johnny’s trail.  Armed with that knowledge, he’d had time to give the police_  
_agency the slip and was staying ahead of them._  
  
_“Well, well, well, Mickey.  Now I know who you are,” he murmured to himself.  He tapped his pen on_ _the desk twice, then ordered, “Riley, send five dozen roses to Mrs. Steele at the Remington Steele_  
_Agency in Los Angeles.”_  
  
_“What do you want the card to say, sir?”_  
  
_“Just put ‘Thanks, Johnny’ on it.”_  
  
_“Yes, sir. White roses?”_  
  
_“Of course.”  He tilted the page to get a better look at the man in the picture.  “And you, Mr. Steele._ _Seems I owe you another one.  It’s been a long time, Cousin.”_


	2. Aftermath

In reflection, his first clue that things weren’t quite right was at the Los Angeles airport.  Remington,   
Laura and Mildred were all shocked to be confronted by a myriad of reporters and photographers as they   
stepped into the terminal from the jet-way.  Mildred, with her usual protectiveness for her kids, cleared a   
path while Remington and Laura pulled on their best game faces and smiled for the cameras, waving as if   
they were coming home from a grand vacation.  They refused all questions and headed straight for Fred   
and the limousine parked in the pouring rain at the terminal curb.  While the driver retrieved their luggage,   
Remington opened the door for the ladies, getting soaked in the process.  Laura stood under the canopy,   
staring at the car.  In the end, Mildred had to give Laura a gentle nudge before the younger woman broke   
from her daze and dashed inside.  
  
It could have been just the normal weariness that accompanies a long trip from home.  Certainly, the   
Steeles had staggered home from vacation any number of times and promptly stretched out on the sofa   
or bed together before deciding what to do for dinner or breakfast as the occasion required.  But their   
second anniversary became a nightmare when a Dublin mob boss decided that he needed the former    
thief’s services to obtain enough money to assassinate a blackmailer--and he used Laura as leverage.    
Clever thinking by the Steeles allowed them to escape and exact justice with the help of Interpol but not   
before suffering a great deal at Denis O’Callaghan’s hands.  It had taken tremendous faith on both their   
parts to see the two weeks through before winging their way home to Los Angeles.  
  
Laura had slept in Remington’s arms nearly the entire flight--unusual but not unheard of, especially given  
the circumstances--and he’d chalked up her vague expression outside the airport to drowsiness and the   
surprise presence of the paparazzi.  Somehow in the confusion, he’d forgotten that she had watched   
another limousine explode a few feet from her and had believed him to be inside at the time.  
  
*****  
  
The fact that she was content to spend the majority of Sunday and Monday curled up with him on the   
living room sofa in their penthouse didn’t alarm him at all.  After all that had happened, Remington was   
more than ready to key up the security system in their flat to its highest level and stay inside as well.  He   
made only a single trip to the grocer’s on Sunday morning while Laura slept in their bed.  He discovered   
more persistent reporters in the process and fought through the small crowd of them hovering outside   
their apartment building in the pale morning light both coming and going.  Apparently, he and Laura had   
been more of a news item than he had anticipated.  
  
He was once again thankful that the elevator required a passkey and gave him and Laura a modicum of   
privacy from this kind of thing, but he did make a quick sweep of the hidden back staircase that led from   
their flat to the ground floor to make certain no one was lurking there.  
  
Early in the afternoon, Laura made brief phone calls to her mom and sisters to let them know she was   
home but couldn’t be persuaded by any of them to talk much about what had happened.  
  
Kate was the most persistent.  “Laura, Murphy won’t tell me a thing.  He said I have to hear it from   
you.”  
  
Laura’s hand clutched the table in front of her.  “Katy, we were kidnapped.  I’m sure I don’t need to   
recount exactly what happened to either of us.  What’s important is that we both managed to get out   
alive.  Mildred, Murphy and Interpol helped take down the man who was responsible.  What else do you   
want to know?”  
  
There was a long silence on the other end of the line as Kate reconsidered her nagging.  Murphy had   
given her only the bare bones and insisted that Laura had to be the one to give her details.  She could   
hear the pain in her sister’s voice, and her heart ached for her twin.  “Are you going to be okay?” she   
asked.  
  
“I’ll be fine.  It will just take a few days for everything to feel normal again.”  I hope.  Laura started   
shaking her hand out of the mess of phone cord that she’d wrapped around her fingers in agitation.  
  
Kate didn’t believe that for a moment but knew her sister’s reticence well and changed tactics.  “How’s   
Remington?”  
  
“Better than I am at the moment.”  Or so it seems.      
  
“Laura, I’m here if you want to talk about it.”  
  
“I know, Katy.  Not yet.  I need to put it away for a while.”  She shifted uncomfortably and changed the   
subject.  “Murphy mentioned that all of you might visit in a few weeks.  Are you still planning on that?”  
  
In other words, how long do you have to pull yourself together? Kate thought.  “Two or three weeks.       
I’ll let you know.  I need to see you, Laura.”  
  
“I know.  Katy, I don’t want to do this to you, but I’m jetlagged something awful.  Can we talk in a few   
days?”  Laura was close to losing her composure and wanted to bail on the conversation.  
  
Concerned by the pain she could hear in her sister’s voice but understanding how she handled stress,   
Kate let her go, giving Laura her love before saying goodbye.  
  
Laura quietly put the telephone in its cradle as Remington came up behind her and placed his arm around   
her waist.  She closed her eyes and swallowed the sob bubbling in her throat.  Only when she had   
regained her composure did she turn around and face him.  He knew she was fighting back tears, but as   
volatile as his own emotions were, he wasn’t up to confronting hers.  Instead, he arched a brow and   
joked, “If your jetlag feels anything like mine, then the horizontal surface of the couch is looking more   
attractive by the moment.”  
  
Laura nodded in agreement, still not trusting herself to speak, and let him lead her to the sofa.  There   
they stretched out facing one another.  He kept one hand buried in her hair; she laid one against his heart.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Mildred ran interference again for them on Monday.  It was an extraordinarily rare occasion when   
Remington firmly put his foot down when it came to Laura, but he did that day--insisting that she stay   
home and rest.  What was more surprising was that she didn’t offer even a token argument--citing the   
pain in her knee as an excuse not to go in.  With a raised brow, he handed her the phone and waited for   
her to make an appointment with the orthopedist.  
  
In an attempt to get the reporters camped out at both the Steele’s apartment building and the agency to   
leave them in peace, Remington, with Laura’s help, crafted a carefully edited version of the events in   
Ireland.  He personally called the Los Angeles Tribune editor and faxed over the press release from their   
home office, promising an interview for later in the week.  
  
Mildred met that day with the agency staff: Ian, Kaleb and Sandra--the newest associate of the agency--  
to brief them prior to the Steeles’ return.  She gave them a copy of the press release before it hit the   
newsstands and a bare minimum of additional details about the events in Ireland.  The trio exchanged   
glances, understanding that they were only seeing the tip of the iceberg.  
  
Tuesday bore some resemblance to a normal routine as Remington and Laura arrived at the agency   
together.  She’d given in and used the crutches when it was apparent that walking on her injured joint   
only resulted in more pain and swelling.  The office staff welcomed them back with hugs, handshakes   
and thinly-concealed sighs of relief moments before Ian dumped a pile of paperwork on each of their   
desks.  He’d been under intense pressure these past two weeks, taking the brunt of the media attention   
and the calls from worried clients.  Sandra and Kaleb had handily stepped up to the plate to placate the   
latter as much as possible and to provide a solid front to the former, but it had been Ian that kept the   
atmosphere cool and professional despite the turmoil.  
  
Sandra Martinez was a smart investigator in her mid-forties who had tired of the male chauvinism of   
Houston and had come to Los Angeles six months ago to find a better life.  Laura had immediately   
bonded with the tall redhead with a mile-wide smile and Texas accent that could be heard a football field   
away.  Despite all that, or perhaps because of it, she had a real knack for making friends in the right   
places and provided a nice balance of experience and panache against Kaleb’s youth and street smarts.  
  
Kaleb Carter was raised on the streets of Los Angeles.  Built like a football player with a smooth skull he   
religiously shaved, he’d been working for one of Remington’s friends since the age of fourteen.  Monroe   
had kept an eye on him, making sure he stayed out of real trouble and introducing the lad to Steele nearly   
two years ago.  When the young man graduated from high school, he began working as an apprentice for   
the agency.  Because of his age, the Steeles insisted that he take a handful of college courses to help him   
keep his options open, but it was obvious that he had real talent for detective work.  Like Remington,     
he’d grown up poor, on the wrong side of the street and without a father.  And as Steele had not quite a   
generation earlier, Kaleb blended with the younger elements of street life.  He was an old soul in a young   
man’s body.  
  
Sandra and Kaleb had a great deal of fun comparing Tex-Mex Spanish to California Spanish and   
sometimes left the rest of the office in a daze with their speedy conversations and sly grins.  Remington   
often called them both amateurs as he rattled through both dialects and insulted them in any one of a    
half-dozen others he’d picked up between Spain and South America.  
  
Ian Connelly kept the office humming from his central post in the agency.  Like his predecessor, he was   
nearly unflappable and found the business intriguing although he had little interest in pursuing the kind of  
detective work that made the Steeles famous.  Ian commented frequently that the only place he could   
comfortably blend was on the beach--with Mrs. Steele’s full agreement.  Instead, Mildred found a   
kindred spirit, and the pair spent many hours tracking down financial records and tapping into computer   
networks all over the world.  
  
Since Sandra had come on board, the Steeles had taken turns pairing up with her and Kaleb, both to get a   
feel for her strengths and weaknesses and to further the young man’s training.  But Laura met with them   
on this morning to let them know they would be permanently teamed up for a while.  As long as Laura   
was on crutches, it would be Remington’s job to represent the agency outside the office, and the couple   
would have to lean a little harder on the rest of the staff for routine detective work.  
  
As the day wore on, it became apparent that the media had caused a furor with the agency’s clients and   
reputation.  The few details that trickled in from Ireland had been expounded on and distorted enough in   
the news that both Remington and Laura agreed that damage control would be necessary.  Unfortunately   
for them, it required handling now and not later.  They both fielded dozens of phone calls from clients   
that kept them on retainer.  Each was simply looking for reassurance that all would be well--but only a   
personal discussion with either of the Steeles would do.  Remington would be hard-pressed in the coming   
days to keep up the unflappable, sophisticated image that he and Laura had created as they set up a   
heavy round of interviews and appearances to cool the attention of the media and calm their clientele.  
  
*****  
  
The second clue that all was not well with Laura came on Wednesday--and was one that should have   
been a warning bell to Remington.  She didn’t want to go into the agency.  He knew she had an   
appointment with her orthopedist about her knee mid-morning, but in retrospect, it was completely out of   
character for her not to zip into the office for even an hour to see how things had fared.  She played it off   
well.  He had a ridiculously early appearance scheduled on one of the LA morning news shows, and she   
mentioned he could pick her up afterward.  
  
Fred dropped him by the penthouse and then returned to the agency to pick up Mildred for a court   
appearance which had been delayed due to the unusual circumstances.  The defending attorney released   
a deep sigh of relief when she showed up to be the expert witness for his client.  
  
Remington drove Laura in the Auburn through the steady rain to her appointment.  After his third wary   
glance her way, she patted his hand to reassure him.  “I’ll be okay; I promise.  We’ve done this before,   
remember?”  He did, and somehow it didn’t reassure him in the slightest.  
  
After a series of x-rays and a thorough exam, the orthopedist promptly fit her with a full leg brace and   
insisted she use the crutches until she met with the physical therapist.  He shook his head in frustration.    
“Mrs. Steele, I don’t know if you’ll get the full use of your knee back.  Another surgery isn’t going to   
help this time.  If you had been able to stay off it after your injury, you would be in better shape.  I   
understand it couldn’t be helped, and we’ll do what we can.  We’re going to take it slowly.  You must   
promise me that you will do your part to let it heal--and that means absolutely nothing outside of what the  
physical therapist tells you to do.”  
  
Dejected by the news, Laura nodded in agreement as the doctor continued, “Now I’d like to give you a   
prescription that will help with the pain, but I have to ask you a question first.  From what you wrote on   
your paperwork, is there a chance you could be pregnant?  Because I don’t want to give you this   
medication if you are.”  Laura’s eyes connected with Remington’s as she slowly nodded.  Stunned by her   
admission, he reached out and brushed his fingers across her hand.  
  
“Do you want to do a pregnancy test?” the doctor asked.  
  
Remington held his breath as Laura shook her head.  “No, it’s too soon to tell.”  His heart fell.  She saw   
the faint regret in his eyes and looked away, unable to bear his disappointment.  
  
Missing the entire exchange, the doctor mulled over her response.  “Then we’ll have to do without.  Ice   
and rest--you know the drill.”  
  
Checking out of the office took only a moment.  While Laura signed papers, made an appointment with   
the rehabilitation clinic and handed over her credit card, Remington kept his fingers at the small of her   
back, stroking rhythmically as he contemplated the possibilities.  It hadn’t occurred to him that she could   
become pregnant so soon.  A quick count in his head told him they still had four or five days to go before   
they would have their first real indication of whether it was a possibility.  
  
Completely aware of the direction of her husband’s thoughts, Laura wasn’t ready to contemplate the   
same and did her best to distract herself by thinking through the stack of papers on her desk.  On the   
drive to the agency, she rested her head against the seat and kept her eyes closed, a tactic she used when   
she didn’t want to talk.  Remington left her alone until he’d parked the Auburn in the garage and rounded   
the car to open her door.  When she had her balance on the crutches, he not-so-subtly blocked her way.  
  
“Laura.”  Knowing what was coming, she gave him the briefest of glances and dropped her gaze to   
somewhere around her toes.  “Do you think you could be pregnant?”  
  
She could hear the hope in his voice and could only shrug.  “I don’t know.  It hasn’t even been a month,   
and I’ve been on the Pill for so long that I don’t know what to expect.”  Keeping his face carefully   
neutral, he only nodded before stepping out of her way.  As he followed her to the elevator, she had the   
distinct impression he was terribly disappointed by her answer.  
  
*****  
  
Somewhere after midnight, Remington watched High Noon (Gary Cooper, Grace Kelly, United Artists,   
1952), admiring Marshal Kane’s ability to stand up in the face of the enemy.  He’d been unable to sleep   
after Laura had undressed in the bedroom and he’d seen the yellowing bruises still visible across her   
body.  He’d lain with her only long enough for her to fall asleep and then slipped out of bed to flip   
channels on the TV.  
  
But even the movie hadn’t been able to stop the flow of memories from the past three weeks, and he’d   
lost track of the story several times.  He was rubbing his face in an effort to wipe away the thoughts   
when he heard Laura shriek.  By the time he dashed across the sofa to get to the bedroom, she had   
already turned on the light and leaned up on her elbow.    
  
From the doorway, he could see her distress.  “Laura?  Oh, love--“  He sat beside her and rubbed her   
back.  “Are you all right?”  
  
Her breath hitched, but she squelched any tears by tilting her head back and blinking a lot.  “I’m okay.    
Bad dream.”  She had to focus on his face to forcibly remind herself that he was still alive.  “Will--will   
you stay with me a while?”  
  
Knowing how hard it was for her to ask, he realized that the nightmare must have truly frightened her.    
“Of course.”  He took a moment to turn off the television in the living room before scooting in next to   
her.  He ran his fingers through her hair until she settled again, but it was a long time before either of   
them slept.  
  
* * * * *  
  
By the end of the week, the entire agency staff knew that things were not yet back to normal.  Laura   
kept to her office where she met with clients, dealt with security contracts and looked over case   
paperwork in between.  She rarely came out and never cracked a smile.  Remington spent most of the   
week checking security details, meeting with clients and handling whatever media requests he and Laura   
had determined would be good for the agency.  
  
Friday afternoon, Fred drove Laura to the physical therapist’s office where she spent a miserable forty-  
five minutes learning new and painful exercises that would hopefully strengthen her knee.  Without pain   
medicine to dull the resultant throbbing, by the time she got home, she was cranky and miserable.  It was   
all she could do to pack a bag of ice on her leg and crawl onto the sofa.  What she wanted was for Rei to   
hold her.  What she got was a pillow and a nasty headache.  
  
Remington found her sleeping an hour later.  He left her there while he changed clothes and started a   
simple supper--for him anyway--of shrimp bisque and a salad.  As he stirred the soup, he tried to figure   
out what had gone wrong this week.  
  
In Ireland, Laura had seemed to bounce back from the horrid affair, and he'd had every reason to believe   
they would resume their normal lives in Los Angeles.  But the image of her staring blank-faced at the   
limousine at the airport flashed into his head, and he clenched his jaw in memory.  Sifting through the   
rest of the clues, he realized that she was more affected than she was letting on.  Then again, so was he.    
He’d spent a great deal of the past few days pushing visions and memories aside so he could focus on his   
stacked schedule.  
  
Shaking his head, he snorted at the irony of the hours he was putting in on the agency’s behalf.  Whereas   
six years ago he had only been a hollow figurehead attempting to draw attention to the agency, now he   
was stuck in those shoes with a great deal to lose if he failed.  And he would never fail--if only for     
Laura’s sake.  They might share in the agency now, but the dream was wholly hers.  His was to make   
her happy.     
  
When dinner was ready, he laid a hand on her cheek to wake her; then he helped her to the island where   
they took most of their meals these days.  He made half a dozen futile attempts to draw her out in   
conversation, but she was pale and sore from the therapy and quite uncommunicative.  Afterward, she   
soaked in the hot tub and then propped her knee up on the bed while she perused case files.  She fell   
asleep in minutes, leaving paperwork sprawled across the covers.  
  
Remington set them aside, watching over her for a few minutes before turning out the light and brushing   
her cheek with his fingertips.  He tried again not to think about the things that had happened to her.    
Failing that, he wandered out to the terrace and gave into temptation by pulling out a slim cigar and   
lighting it.  A warm breeze washed in from the ocean, accompanied by the sounds of traffic below.  The   
nicotine kicked in, and he let the sensation chase away the terrible images before they could free his   
anger.  Very carefully, he put the thoughts out of his mind and firmly shut all of it behind a strong mental   
door.  
  
Instead, he focused on the possibility of Laura being pregnant.  In a rare moment of absolute, ruthless   
honesty, he wondered how she would cope with being a mother along with being a wife and detective.    
Melding the last two had been hard enough for her.  
  
But she’d surprised him and charted a course unique and true to both of them.  Even more astounding   
was that Laura seemed to have few preconceived notions of what a husband should be, other than loving   
and unfailingly loyal.  He’d had the freedom to discover the facets of the role for himself.  
  
As a couple, they complimented each other every bit as much as they did as partners.  He had no reason   
to expect anything less of them as parents.  Long ago, he’d learned not to underestimate her.  When   
Laura set her mind to a task, she rarely failed to execute it brilliantly.  When her love was involved, she   
could--and had--moved mountains.  
  
It was that last thought that allowed the tension in his shoulders to ease, and he returned to her side.  
  
  
  
Comparatively, the weekend seemed almost normal.  Remington spent most of it cooking and Laura   
doing paperwork.  The week had been miserably hectic, and they’d been relying on take-out dinners   
before collapsing in bed at night.  Since next week wasn’t looking much better and he preferred his own   
creations, he determinedly prepped dishes that could be easily finished later.  He’d noted that Laura    
wasn’t eating much and made sure he had her favorites on hand.  She was still tender from the therapy,   
but periodic soaks in the hot tub worked miracles, and color returned to her face by midday on   
Saturday.  While Remington cooked, Laura made notes in case files at the kitchen island and bounced   
around ideas with him in the process.  It was a system that had worked well for them these past two   
years, and the routine brought them a great deal of comfort--as did their evenings of watching old movies   
where each night Laura fell asleep long before the end.  
  
He trailed his fingers through her hair.  She’d been sleeping a great deal lately.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Mildred had higher hopes for the week when the pair arrived at the office on Monday morning--  
Remington with a cheerful grin and Laura with a hesitant smile.  He placed his wife’s briefcase on her   
desk, and then they closeted themselves with Ian to work through the week’s schedule.  
  
Mid-morning, Steele left for a Chamber of Commerce luncheon and another interview when he passed a   
delivery boy carrying an enormous arrangement of white roses through the lobby of their building.  He   
paused, eyeing the arrangement, and then dismissed it with an uneasy feeling.  
  
The exquisite white roses were for Laura, and the succinct note poked into the flowers made her frown.    
She’d half-expected something like this, but the reality of having Ireland intrude into her own office had   
her biting her lip and doing her best to ignore the arrangement.  Mildred saw the flowers as they arrived   
and casually walked into Laura’s office to check them out.  “Nice petals, Mrs. Steele.”  
  
“Yes, they are.”  
  
But Laura didn’t gush over the flowers as she normally did when presented with a bouquet, and Mildred   
tilted her head as she thought about it.  “Mr. Steele doesn’t do white roses if I remember correctly.”  
  
“No.”  Laura passed the note card to her, watching as the other woman read it and wrinkled her nose   
before sitting down.  
  
“He sure didn’t wait long.  Think we have something else to worry about?”  
  
“I don’t know, Mildred.  Sometimes I think the whole fiasco was just a little too easy.”  
  
“Easy?  Are you kidding me, Mrs. Steele?”  
  
With a shrug and a sigh, Laura laid out her thoughts.  “No.  Think about it.  O’Callaghan had been   
waiting at least two years for Remington, possibly even longer.  He had a brilliant plan at the start and   
caught both of us in a very well-executed trap.  But after that, it’s as if he didn’t have a clue how to pull   
it off.  Both of us escaped a day later, and he relied completely on Mr. Steele to pull off the rest.  In   
retrospect, I think if we’d boarded a plane and come home, O’Callaghan wouldn’t have been able to do a   
thing about it.  He didn’t have the money to hire a hit without the diamond.”  
  
“That’s not right, Mrs. Steele.  He did.  He would have had to liquidate to get it, but Mr. Steele seemed   
to think it was more than likely that he would have done just that.”  
  
“I think that’s what bothers me the most.  Why was Remington convinced that’s what O’Callaghan   
would do?”  
  
“Interpol agreed, remember?”  Mildred tapped her finger on the desk emphatically.  
  
“Something about this bothers me, Mildred.”  
  
“Everything about it bothers me, Mrs. Steele.”  
  
  
  
At nearly five o’clock, Remington opened the connecting door from his office to Laura’s and knew what   
he would find when the sweet scent hit his nose.  He swore under his breath, “Bloody, buggering hell.”    
Laura sat at her desk with the roses sitting on her credenza behind her.  Without a word she passed him   
the short note.  
  
“Thanks, Johnny,” he read aloud.  Furious in an instant, Remington clenched his jaw.  “Well, you got   
your wish; he’s definitely made the connection.”  
  
“I don’t know that I wished for it.”  Laura’s response was rather acerbic.  She’d tipped off Carlisle   
assuming one of two things would happen.  If Carlisle didn’t figure out "Mickey" and "Laura Steele"   
were one and the same, then Interpol would have had an excellent opportunity to substitute an agent into   
Laura’s place and put an operative inside Carlisle’s camp.  If he did, then hopefully he would be   
convinced that the Steeles had no part of Interpol’s operation and would leave them alone.  Laura had   
worried that if Carlisle thought the Steeles had put Interpol on him, he would retaliate.  
  
“No.  It worked, but I don’t like that Carlisle had to make a point of it.”  He rubbed the back of his   
neck.  “It is like him though.”  He sat on the corner of Laura’s desk.  
  
Surprised at his admission, she had to ask, “You know him?”  
  
Still not quite sure how to tell her, he skirted the truth.  “As well as anyone.  We’ve crossed paths a time   
or two, but I tried to stay out of his way.”   _Never mind he’s one of those damnable cousins I lived with  
for a time.  
  
_Laura could see there was more in his eyes, but when he failed to elaborate, she asked, “Do the roses   
bother you?”  
  
“Yes.  I don’t like anything from there intruding here.”  
  
She punched a button on the intercom.  “Ian?  Does your girlfriend like roses?”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
  
“Good.  Come get these and give her the surprise of her life.”  
  
Remington drew out a toothpick from his pocket and nibbled on it.  “You don’t like them either.”  
  
“No.  I kept them only so you could see them.  I had no intention of leaving them in the agency--for the   
same reason you just gave me.”  
  
Ian opened the door and retrieved the flowers.  She dismissed him for the day with a smile, and the   
young man jauntily sauntered home with his prize.  
  


 

 


	3. Deep Waters

After that, the nightmares started in earnest.  For the next several nights, Laura could hardly close her   
eyes before the vision of the limo exploding, the sound of her husband sobbing harshly in the hotel and   
the memory of the gouges in his skin intruded into her sleep.  Most of the time she bit her lip and let the   
tears flow in silence so as not to wake Remington, but twice already this week he’d roused her and said   
she’d been crying out in her sleep.  
  
And she wasn’t the only one.  Once, while she was lying still after waking from a particularly horrible   
dream, she’d heard him mumbling her name and cursing vehemently at someone else.  She had draped   
an arm around him, and he'd settled after a few moments.  
  
By the end of the week, both were exhausted from the lack of real sleep, the hectic pace they’d been   
keeping at the agency and the worry they had for each other.  Not only that, the physical therapist was   
pushing Laura hard to build strength back into her joint.  After this last session on Friday afternoon, she   
was extraordinarily irritable and eventually sent herself to bed so as not to inflict any more snotty remarks  
on her innocent husband.  Remington resumed his position on the terrace and smoked another cigar, lost   
in his own troubled thoughts.    
  
They hadn’t made love since their last day in London.  For a couple that indulged almost daily for two   
years, that came as an abrupt shock.  Laura hadn’t actually denied him, just fell asleep moments after   
getting into bed.  Remington had to admit he wasn’t any better.  He’d put in such long hours these past   
two weeks that he hadn’t indulged in any of the teasing banter with her that put a sparkle in her eyes.  In   
retrospect, he realized he’d let their desire to protect the agency take priority over their personal needs.  
  
He wanted her--not just in bed.  He needed to see that their relationship could be what it was a month   
ago.  He needed to know if she was pregnant.  She was nearly a week overdue for her period, but she   
hadn’t offered any explanations.  Given her fragile emotional state, he was afraid to ask for one.  
  
Snuffing out the cigar, Remington pushed away from the railing and left the terrace.  It only took him a   
few minutes to undress and ready himself to join Laura in bed.  Clad only in a t-shirt, she had curled up   
on his pillow--searching for him in her sleep.  He let her find him, and they slept the night through.  
  
  
  
When the Saturday morning sun brought a dim glow to the room, he woke first to find Laura sprawled   
across him.  With her head pillowed on his shoulder, she used his body to support her knee while one   
hand clutched his waist.  He brought his own hand up to stroke her back, only to discover knotted   
muscles there.  
  
 _How can she sleep that way?  Exhaustion?_  Annoyed with himself again for letting the week get out of   
hand, Remington eased out from under her and began massaging the tension from her slim form.  The   
faded echoes of the bruises could still be seen across her ribs and back; he traced them with a fingertip   
before soothing the aches along her spine and shoulders.  
  
Unknowingly, he drew her out of the nightmare she’d been having.  She’d been reliving the agony of   
thinking he was dead when his gentle touch interrupted the dream.  Immediately, she relaxed, and   
Remington felt some of the strain ease under his hands.  Now he could focus on the knots themselves   
and give her some relief.  
  
The gossamer webs of sleep drifted away as she woke to his gentle touch.  Her first thought had to do   
with how much she’d missed having his hands on her.  She lost track of her second when he slipped her   
shirt over her head and continued with his gentle ministrations on her neck and shoulders.  One thumb   
dug into a particularly sore spot under her shoulder blade and then soothed it away.  She hovered   
somewhere between waking and sleeping while he worked the aches from her body.  As the tension   
released, a shudder of pleasure rippled through her.    
  
Remington had been waiting for it and smiled when it happened.  A gentle nudge to her waist had her   
rolling to her back.  Smoothly, he slipped a pillow under her knee and began massaging the sore muscles   
and tendons of her leg.  He considered the fact that she was naked to his gaze a bonus.  
  
Laura opened sleepy eyes and smiled at him.  “You’re pretty good at that.”  
  
“One of my many talents,” he jested.  She couldn’t help the quivering that rolled through her small   
frame.  The combination of pain relief with the gentle stroking awakened her quiescent need for him.    
“You like that?”  
  
“I do.”  Laura blushed as she came fully awake and realized she wasn’t wearing a scrap of clothing while   
Rei sat between her legs as he massaged her knee and thigh.  “Oh!”  He was nude as well and looked like   
a Roman sculpture sitting at the foot of the bed.  
  
He raised a brow.  “Now Laura, the feast to my eyes is only fair recompense for the thorough massage   
you are receiving even as we speak.  Besides,” he waited a beat, “I can’t have my way with you if       
you’re all tense and sore, hmm?”  
  
“Ah, right.”  
  
“How does it feel?”  He slid his thumb up the inside of her thigh and brushed it across the sensitive skin   
at the top.  
  
“How does what feel?”  Whatever train of thought she might have had was lost as her brain zeroed in on   
the sensation.  
  
“Your knee, your back and whatever else might be aching a bit.”  He drifted his thumb closer to her   
center and discovered she was becoming damp there.  
  
“Uh, fine"   _What is he talking about?_  He touched her knot and circled it one time, causing her to close   
her eyes and bite her lip.  
  
His thumb stroked from the base of her cleft to the top and back again.  “Fine?  Moments ago your body   
was tighter than the string on a bow.”  His thumb came up wet, and he laid it across his lips and savored,   
much the same as a chef checking the flavor of sauce--and his refined palate detected something   
different, something elusive that teased the senses.  
  
Laura missed the quizzical look that crossed his face.  “What was the question?”  
  
He stroked her again and repeated the action.   _Yes, something is different._  “You appear to be quite   
relaxed, love.”  
  
“I am.”   _Well, not if you keep doing THAT.  
  
_ He took advantage of her stillness and slid his hands over her narrow hips, along her trim waist and   
cupped her breasts, causing her to wince ever so faintly. _Sore?  Is she about to get her period?  Or is  
she pregnant?_  He narrowed his eyes as he moved to lie next to her where he could reach her collarbone   
with his lips.  
  
With the tenderest of care, he nuzzled her neck and stroked with his free hand until she began making   
little squeaking sounds.  Then he captured her mouth while he eased over and sank his body deep inside   
hers.  He stayed a while, not moving, as their tongues melded, and she flexed her short nails on his   
shoulders.  
  
“I’m not begging, Rei.”   _Sure I am.  I’m at your mercy and you know it.  Damn knee.  If I could get a  
little leverage, I’d be on top, and you’d be begging ME.  
  
_“Of course not, love.” _Yeah, you are.  And I’m enjoying the hell out of it.  Watch this._ He took two   
long, slow strokes and waited.   _What are you going to do about that?  
  
Nope.  Not begging._  Instead, she drew her fingers through his hair and trailed them down his back, using   
the lightest touch possible.    
  
Involuntarily, he leaned into her hands, causing him to pull out of her a fraction.  Just as helpless to resist,  
he sank back in.  Her touch sent a shiver through him.   _Damn it, woman, I can’t concentrate when you  
do that. _ Two years into marriage, he still reveled in the sensation of her fingers trailing over his bare skin.  
  
Then she pulled out the big gun, the one that never failed to disrupt his focus entirely.  As her lips found   
his neck and shoulder, she whispered, “Rei?”  
  
"Hmmm?”  
  
“I love you.”  
  
Pure pleasure washed over him.  She hadn’t said the words since their flight from Cork, and he hadn’t   
realized how much he had needed to hear them.   _Game, set and match.  I’m all yours.  
  
_ He rarely gave her the words, but he did so now, linking her name to his in the process.  “I love you,   
Laura Steele.”  He watched her eyes blur with emotion and began moving inside her, savoring the motion   
and the pleasure it created.  When he felt her whole body contract around his, he joined her and   
murmured her name in her ear.  
  
  
  
Because it was Saturday, Remington insisted on making a real breakfast that included eggs of some kind,   
ham or bacon and toast.  During the work week, he let Laura get away with coffee or yogurt in the   
mornings, but on the weekends he insisted on feeding her.  The five pounds she’d put on in their two   
years of marriage looked good to him though she complained about it from time to time.  He saw that she   
looked a little green at the sight of scrambled eggs with cheese dusted on top but ate them anyway   
between sips of tea.  
  
“So what are we going to do today?  Go for a drive?  See a movie?  I think there’s a Katherine Hepburn   
festival going on this weekend.”  
  
“I need to do my exercises this morning.”  
  
He raised one eyebrow at her, noticing that she avoided the question.  “Then I’ll go box for a bit while   
you do them; we’ll decide after lunch.”  She opened her mouth and closed it again without saying   
anything.  “Laura?”  
  
“Rei, I don’t know that I want to go anywhere today.”  
  
At her forlorn expression, he captured her cheek.  “Buck up, love; we’ll do our chores this morning and   
be completely irresponsible this afternoon.”  Her mouth turned up at the edges, but the light didn’t reach   
her eyes.  
  
The moment he left for the run-down, sordid little gym he frequented, Laura retreated to her barre in the   
spare bedroom to work through the exercises the physical therapist had assigned.  She could feel the   
black cloud hanging over her head again, much as it had done these past two weeks.  She wanted to   
weep but stuffed it down and focused on the movements the therapist taught her.     
  
After she ran through the painful stretches, she attempted to do some of the other parts of her normal   
exercise routine.  Ten minutes in, her hamstring pulled hard.  She dropped to the floor clutching the   
strained muscle.  Another week on crutches had allowed it to contract, and she hadn’t stretched it out   
properly.   _Oh, this hurts._  She sat on the wood floor for a while and tried to massage the pain away,   
wishing Remington was here with his magic hands.   _Damn it, Rei.  Why do I need you for everything?  
  
_ That thought stopped her cold and sent her scrabbling for the phone near the door.   _No, damn it.  I won’t  
do this again.  Not now. _ She sat on the floor and leaned against the wall.  From memory, she punched   
in a number that she hadn’t dialed in nearly six years.  
  
“Dr. Angelo?  Um, it’s Laura Steele; I mean ... you probably don’t remember me … but I was Laura   
Holt then.”  
  
A woman with a lovely, deep voice answered, “Ah, yes, Mrs. Steele.  I saw your picture in the paper and   
wondered how you were faring.  It’s been many years since you’ve called me.  More since you’ve called   
me on the weekend.”  
  
Laura took a deep breath and replied, “I’m sorry for disturbing you, Dr. Angelo, I--“  
  
“Mariah, please, Laura.  We’re long past last names, don’t you think?”  
  
“Yes, I suppose we are.”  
  
“Tell me why you’ve called.  From the sound of your voice, I imagine there must have been much more   
to Ireland than what I read in the paper.”  
  
“Yeah, you could say that.”  With great trepidation, Laura clutched the phone cord and began recounting   
the two weeks in Ireland in exacting detail.  
  
  
  
Remington returned to the flat after only thirty minutes.  He’d started for the gym and turned back--  
realizing that despite the delight of their morning interlude, Laura wasn’t herself at all.  He made one   
quick stop and picked up a pregnancy test for her. _I need to know--one way or the other.  Shut up,  
Daniel.  I know you’re laughing at me again._  From time to time he had the distinct feeling his father   
was watching every move he made.  This was one of them.  
  
Why hadn’t she taken a pregnancy test?  He knew he’d been out of the office and away from her far too   
much, but it had taken a good dose of his charm and persuasiveness to soothe the clients and deal with   
the press concerning the recent events.  Laura had given only one brief interview from her office and let   
him handle the rest.  
  
When he stepped from the elevator and opened the door to their penthouse, he heard her speaking with   
someone from the bedroom they’d turned into a small gym.  She sounded upset.  He drew closer and   
realized she was giving someone an honest accounting of the fortnight they’d spent overseas.  
  
“Mariah, I know that it’s all put to rest for now and O’Callaghan can’t hurt us, but I can’t seem to think   
past it.  And now … there are complications.  Oh, damn.  I won’t go back down this road again!  I   
thought I was strong enough not to let this happen again.”  
  
Dr. Angelo kept her voice level, projecting confidence and comfort across the phone lines.  “Laura,      
you’ve had an enormous shock, and you’ve been the victim of a violent crime.  Not only that, under the   
influence of drugs, you’ve hurt the person you love most.  Of course, there are going to be   
repercussions.  Now then, I need to know what kind of complications there are.”  
  
“Well, for one, my knee injury might be permanent.  How am I supposed to be a detective if I can’t   
detect, Mariah?  I love what I do.  Remington and I make a great team.  I don’t want him permanently   
partnered with someone else.”  
  
“That’s understandable, Laura.  What else?”  
  
“I … I think I’m pregnant.  I’m almost certain.  I think Remington knows it too.  Oh, Mariah, I want to   
be the people we were a month ago.  We decided together that we wanted a family.  I want to be excited   
about this child.  I want us to be happy about it.”  
  
“Are you worried about his reaction?”  
  
“No, I know he’ll be thrilled.  But I can’t think past Ireland long enough to be happy about anything right   
now.”  She started to cry.  “I can’t put off a pregnancy test much longer, or he’ll think there’s something   
wrong and I don’t want to have a baby.  But I do.  I just don’t know how to tell him so that he’ll believe   
me.”  
  
“Laura, I know you can get through this.  You’ve done it before, and you are already doing the right   
things.  Can you tell me how far along you are?  The obstetrician will count from the first day of your   
last period.”  
  
“Five weeks,” she said without hesitation.  
  
“You’ve been keeping track.”  
  
“We want a family, Mariah.”  
  
“So tell me what you are afraid of most.  Not the big things.  I want to know the things that set you off.”  
  
Laura closed her eyes and let Mariah’s soothing voice calm her.  “The limousine--getting in it every day   
gets more difficult.  Being cold.  My knee after therapy--it starts aching as it did those first few days.  But   
mostly not being with Rei.  If I could find a way to hold his hand the entire day, I would.  I can’t sleep   
unless he’s holding me.  I don’t want to go anywhere because I’m afraid something will happen to him.    
Mariah--I don’t want to do to him what I did to Kate.”  Her breath hitched, and she had to refocus on   
calming herself, using techniques that Mariah had taught her long ago.  
  
“Then we’ll deal with those things, Laura.  How are things in the bedroom?”  
  
“Not counting this morning?”  
  
“If I count this morning, does it make things better?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Then we’ll count it.”  
  
“We’ve been exhausted, so there’s been none up until now.”  
  
“How was it before?”  
  
“Daily.”  
  
Mariah whistled.  “I imagine he wasn’t the only instigator.”  
  
Laura laughed softly, with a hint of her old humor.  “No.  Not even close.”  
  
“I want to see you on Monday, my friend.  I’m going to give you a homework assignment over the   
weekend.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“First, I want you to get out of the house for just three hours with your husband.  Do something that's   
fun where you can get outside in the sunlight.  A picnic would be good.  Second, I want you to see an   
obstetrician this week if for no other reason than to be able to take something for your knee to cut the   
pain.  And third, I want you and your husband to find a restaurant or some place you can go to talk about   
Ireland without bringing it into your home.”  
  
“Okay,” she repeated.    
  
“Laura, how’s he holding up with all this?”  
  
“I honestly don’t know.  I’ve caught him in a few bad dreams because I’ve been awake so much, but   
beyond that--we’ve hardly been together except for a couple of hours in the evenings.  We’ve been   
working overtime doing damage control from all the media attention.  He’s taken the brunt of that.”  
  
“How long will that keep up?”  
  
“I hope we’re done.  Things slowed down quite a bit at the agency yesterday, and the press has finally   
quit calling for interviews.  I ... things are different though, Mariah.”  
  
“Then the last part of your assignment is to get a bead on how he’s doing, and you can’t do that unless   
you spend time with him.  Monday, Laura.  I don’t care when you want to come in; I’ll make it work for   
you.”  
  
“I have physical therapy at three.”  
  
“Then I’ll see you at four.”    
  
“Mariah, what do I do about telling him?”  
  
“What you knew before you called me.  It’s time to dig down and find the words, Laura.  If you can’t be   
happy about it right now, he needs to know why.  I know he loves you.  You would never marry if he   
didn’t.  But does he understand you?”  
  
“Probably as well as you do.”  
  
“Then he’ll understand this.  We’ll talk more on Monday, and you can tell me how things went.”  
  
“Mariah, thank you.”  
  
“Laura, for you, anytime.”  
  
After saying goodbye, Laura hung up the phone and leaned against the wall.  She wiped away the last of   
her tears.   _I can do this.  We survived.  We’re home.  Things will be good again._  Now if she could only   
make herself believe the last part.  
  
  
  
Remington slipped out the front door and into the elevator before Laura could find him.  He took a quick   
stroll around the block thinking about what he’d overheard and couldn’t help the sigh of relief and a small  
grin.  Laura thought she was pregnant, and she was happy about it despite all evidence to the contrary.    
She also wasn’t avoiding him.  If he knew his wife, and he did, she was trying to stand on her own two   
feet and not lean on him when she had every right to do so.  
  
He frowned, thinking of the phone conversation.  Laura had called her friend "Dr. Angelo" and later   
"Mariah."  He increased his pace until he reached the convenience store on the corner.  He flipped   
through the phone book on the counter and found a Dr. Mariah Angelo, psychologist.  A shrink?  And   
one that Laura was familiar with enough to call by her first name.  
  
Comprehension dawned as he fit the pieces of the conversation with one he’d had a while back with   
Murphy.  Apparently, Laura had struggled with depression in high school and later after Wilson had left   
her.  Remington couldn’t quite relate the image he had of Laura with the one of someone needing   
therapy, but in a strange way it made sense--she was always a bit frightened of her emotions becoming   
too strong.  
  
Now he understood what she had been hiding from him these past two weeks, and his own façade began   
to crack.   _Damn O’Callaghan._  With the man dead, Steele didn’t even have the satisfaction of justice--  
however it might have been executed.  Abruptly, he spun around and headed back to the garage.  
  
During the short trip to the sweaty boxing gym, all the terrible visions and raging anger he’d been   
suppressing erupted.  With his characteristic icy calm, his blue eyes lightened until they were nearly the   
color of his name as he strode through the humid room filled with grunting men and loud rock music   
pouring from the speakers mounted high above.  He wrapped his knuckles just once, wanting--needing--  
to feel the pain as he pummeled the heavy bag.  
  
Repeatedly, he drove his fist into the canvas while reliving the extreme emotions of those two weeks,   
from the joy of deciding with Laura that they wanted to start a family to the excruciating horror of the   
pain O’Callaghan had caused her.  He still couldn’t forgive himself for what he’d done.   _Buggering hell,  
Rei, couldn’t you have come up with another fucking option?  What kind of man abandons his own   
wife after she’s been abused?  What kind of bastard hurts his own wife anyway? _ He could feel his own   
tears burning in his eyes and threw his punches harder to shove past it.  
  
When he did, his shoulders and knuckles burned, and he sagged on a nearby bench, his head in his   
hands.  A large part of him wanted to walk away from the pain, to shut it out and forget it.  It had always   
worked in the past--a new name, a new life and the old could be left behind.  But he had a different kind   
of life now, and he wasn’t exactly sure how to deal with the raging emotions he had.  
  
In the end, he fell back upon old habits.  On the drive home, the crisp morning air dried the sweat from   
his face, and he shut away the dark emotions in his head, this time clearing them from his mind by   
visualizing the Remington he’d been a short two months ago.  His expression lightened, and by the time   
he reached the penthouse, he had a slight grin on his face.  The pregnancy test was stashed under the car   
seat for now.     
  
  
  
Laura was reading through one of Sandra’s cases, making notes on it from the sofa.  An ice pack rested   
on her propped up knee.  She had obviously showered and applied a bare amount of makeup, for there   
was no trace of distress on her face.  But the smile she automatically gave him when he opened the door   
didn’t reach her eyes.  “Hi.”  
  
“Hello, love.”  He braced himself above her and kissed her temple.  
  
She wrinkled her nose.  “You need a shower.”  
  
“Aye, and you smell like roses when you sweat.”  Without thinking, he let a touch of the music of Ireland   
thread through his voice.  
  
Rather than making her edgy, hearing the rare accent comforted her like a warm caress.  She smiled for   
real this time.  “Of course, I do.  And women don’t sweat; they glow.”  
  
“Call it what you will, but you still need a shower afterwards.”  He pushed himself upright and walked to   
the bedroom.  “Have you had any thoughts as to what we’re going to do this afternoon?”  His voice was   
nonchalant.  
  
Just as offhandedly, she answered, “I don’t think I’m in the mood for a movie; how about a picnic?”  
  
“I’ll get a shower and pack a lunch.”

 

 


	4. Small Steps

In the warm sun, the Steeles stretched out in the quiet park a couple of miles from their flat.  The sun   
streamed through the broad trees, dappling the lawn and the edge of their picnic blanket below.  The   
remains of their repast were scattered about, and they relaxed in the spring air.  Mariah had been right,   
Laura thought as she tilted her head back to let the heat caress her throat.  The bright light helped to ease   
the dark edge of her mood.  
  
Remington didn’t bother restraining himself from leaning over and trailing his hand down the side of her   
neck and chasing it with lips pressed to the hollow in front.  He laid Laura on the blanket and kissed with   
her until they were both flushed and breathing shallowly with desire.  A real expression of pleasure   
appeared on her face, and she was a little dreamy-eyed as he watched her.  
  
The inevitable mid-afternoon lassitude clutched Laura in its fingers.  Drowsy, and feeling loved and   
protected with Remington lying next to her, she fell asleep on the blankets with hardly a warning, leaving   
him slightly annoyed.   _How do I talk with her if she naps the moment she’s still?_  Their earlier   
conversation had been stilted before relaxing into the usual ebb and flow they normally enjoyed.  He’d   
planned to ease into the more serious discussion after lunch but instead tidied their mess before pulling   
out his sketchbook.  Laura had asked him to bring it along, and now he was glad he did.  
  
A few minutes later he had a drawing of his wife asleep on the blanket.  As he put the last touches on it,   
the pencil broke.  He dug around in his pocket for his knife, and then remembered he’d left it at home on   
the bathroom counter.  He eyed Laura's purse, knowing she carried a slim penknife.   _That will do._  Some   
cautious poking around resulted in finding the small blade in the side pocket along with a long, thin wand   
that she’d wrapped in plastic and tucked in the middle.  Remington froze as his brain, suddenly mired in   
mud for some reason, processed the meaning of the double pink stripe in the window.  
  
He looked over to his wife while a boyish grin spread across his face.  At least he knew why she was   
sleeping all the time.  Still smiling, he trimmed the pencil with a few deft strokes of the knife and added a   
handful of details to the sketch of Laura.  Then he laid the test on top of the drawing pad and left it on   
the blanket where she would see it when she woke.  
  
While she dozed, he let the discovery sink in.  A child.  A son or a daughter that was his and Laura’s   
alone.  He tried to envision what the little one would look like and then shrugged because it didn’t matter   
to him.  The smile faltered when he thought of what he’d overheard this morning.  He still couldn’t   
imagine Laura needing that kind of professional help and speculated about how long she’d been seeing   
Dr. Angelo.  With worry creasing his forehead, he watched his wife sleep and contemplated the tiny   
spark of life dancing inside her slim body.  
  
Twenty minutes later Laura awakened to see Remington sitting cross-legged near her and looking as if he   
had a million dollar lottery ticket.  She blinked the sleep from her eyes, leaned on an elbow and ran a   
hand through her hair.  “What are you so happy about?”  He tapped his pencil against the sketchpad and   
waited.  She saw the white wand and flicked her eyes up to his in surprise and then back down to the   
picture.  
  
He’d drawn her lying prone on the blanket with a butterfly dancing above her.  One arm was stretched   
overhead, and the fingertips of her other hand rested lightly on her stomach.  In one corner, he’d signed   
and dated it.  In the other, he’d written “Laura with Child.”  
  
She didn’t realize she was dripping tears until one plopped onto the corner of the paper.  A thumb   
touched her cheek and wiped the others away.  “Laura?”  
  
“Well, that’s one way to tell you.”  She laughed a little as she sat up.  “What were you doing in my purse   
anyway?”  
  
He held up the pencil and the knife.  “Forgot mine at home.”  
  
“Ah.  From the enormous smile on your face, I’d guess you’re pleased.”  
  
He pulled her into his lap and buried his face in her neck.  “Laura, love, you have no idea.”  Emotion   
swamped her, and she let out a soft sob before letting the tears flow silently onto his shoulder.  They held   
each other there in the quiet wooded park.  Somehow, he knew this would be her reaction, and it made   
him feel better about the wetness in his own eyes.  He soothed and rocked her, thinking that he would be   
doing this to his own child before long.  
  
“I’m happy; I’m happy.  I know I don’t look it, Rei.”  She took a shuddering breath and wiped her face.  
  
“Of course, you are.  Pregnant women are known for their tears.  I don’t know much, but I do know   
that at least.”  He hugged her to his chest again.  
  
“I’m pregnant,” she stated out of the blue a few minutes later.  
  
“Yes, you are, love.”  He stroked her cheek and chin.  
  
“What were we thinking?”  
  
Remington let out a bark of laughter and squeezed her.  “Are you telling me that the logical Laura didn’t   
think this one through?”  
  
“Let’s just say this looked better on paper.”  
  
“I’m scared too, love.  But didn’t you tell me once that we can learn to be parents?”  
  
“And you believed me?”  
  
“I did.  I do.”  
  
“I’m a better liar than I thought.”  But she said it with a smile and rested her head on his shoulder again.  
  
  
  
On the way home Remington insisted on stopping at the bookstore.  Laura laughed at the stack he piled   
on the counter--everything from baby name and pregnancy books to the La Leche League tome on   
breastfeeding.  She raised her brow at the last one, but he shrugged and said, “You never know.”     
  
In the car, she dug one of the books out of the bag and began flipping through it.  “Something tells me      
I’m going to have to work very hard to keep our child from being hung with some sort of cinematic   
moniker.”  
  
“Are you telling me that a name from the silver screen isn’t good enough for our offspring?”  Remington   
down-shifted the Auburn to zip in front of a slow-moving Ford behemoth of some kind.  
  
“Unequivocally.”  
  
“Laura.”  
  
“What?”  
  
He gestured with his hand.  “Laura, Gene Teirney, Twentieth Century Fox, 1944.  You have your own   
starring name.  I don’t see the difficulty here.”  
  
“The difficulty being that we are not naming our child anything obvious from the movies.”  
  
“Good Lord, woman, we’ll eliminate two-thirds of that,” he indicated the book, “with one fell swoop.    
Besides, what’s wrong with Nick or Nora?  Perfectly good names there.”  
  
“We’re detectives, Rei.  You don’t think anyone would clue into that and think we’re being ridiculous?”  
  
“Sentimental maybe, but certainly not ridiculous.  Remington Steele could never be ridiculous.”  
  
Laura rolled her eyes.  “Of course not.  Whatever was I thinking?”  
  
  
  
The picnic and the trip to the bookstore took far more than the three hours Dr. Angelo had assigned, and   
the sun was sitting low in the sky when they pulled into the parking garage of their apartment building.    
Remington sent Laura into their bedroom for another nap, and given her stifled yawns in the elevator, she   
didn’t argue.  “I don’t remember Kate being this tired,” she commented.  
  
“We didn’t see her right away.  I remember Murphy making noises about Kate falling asleep at her desk   
those first few weeks.”  
  
“I forgot about that.”  
  
“You’re going to have to make use of that sofa in your office this week, love.”  He held the foyer door   
open and followed her into the living room where she tossed the crutches on the floor and curled up on   
the sofa.  
  
“You may be right, Rei.”  She laced her fingers with his for a moment and brought his hand in for a kiss   
before letting go and sleeping dreamlessly.  
  
  
  
By the time she woke, delicious smells wafted through the penthouse.  Hungry for the first time in a   
week, she made her way into the kitchen with the crutches.  
  
Remington had outdone himself in an hour.  Marinated chicken was now simmering with tiny potatoes   
and vegetables in a skillet.  A spinach salad sat on the table, accompanied by the silver, crystal and china   
that they’d eventually selected after their wedding.  Laura had found a complete set of art deco silver-  
plate tableware in an antique shop while doing legwork one day and hadn’t been able to resist the allure.    
Slim and sleek, it paired well with the platinum-edged china they had picked up shortly before their first   
Christmas.  The Waterford crystal had been Abigail’s wedding gift to them, a nod to their Irish nuptials.  
  
Remington dropped a hand towel on the counter after drying his hands on it and came to her, capturing   
her face in his hands and settling his mouth on hers for a lingering kiss.  After a moment, he gave in to   
impulse and lifted her to the island so she wouldn’t have to balance on the crutches.  
  
“You won’t be able to do that for much longer.”  
  
He shot her a quizzical look.  “Laura, even your sister with the twins wasn’t more than a handful at nine   
months.”  Then he winced.  “Oh, Lord, please tell me you’re not carrying two?  I can hardly wrap my   
head around one being in there.”  
  
Laura’s laughter hung in the air.  “I have no idea.  They say identical twins aren’t hereditary, but my   
maternal great-grandmother was an identical twin too.”  
  
He eyed her middle with a comical raised brow.  “Monday morning you’re making an appointment with   
the doctor.  The sooner--“ he stopped and propped his arms on the counter on either side of her.  He   
dropped his head down.  “Bugger me, Laura, what business do I have being a father?”  
  
She tipped his chin back up.  “Rei, you’ll be the kind of father you wanted to have.”  
  
“I’m a bloody con artist and thief.”  
  
“You’re a survivor and my husband.  Besides, you’ll be in charge of making lunches for school.”  
  
Remington brought his arms up to embrace her.  Her arms surrounded him, and she threaded her fingers   
through the waves in his hair.  When he pulled back to kiss her cheek, her unwavering confidence in him   
gave him hope.  “How do you always find the things to say that make everything right, Laura?”     
  
She shrugged.  “Same way you do, I suppose.  You know me better than anyone.”  
  
“I do, don’t I?”  Now he gave her a lascivious perusal.  “And in another month or two, everyone in the   
world will know it.”  
  
Instead of looking comically affronted as he'd expected, Laura bit her lip in chagrin and looked down at   
her still-flat tummy.  “I’m not going to look this good again for a while.”  
  
“Good Lord, Laura, I could hardly keep my eyes off Kate when she was carrying, and she’s only my   
sister-in-law.  If you’ll remember, Murphy bopped me on the head a time or two for staring.  Do you   
honestly think I won’t find you extraordinarily lovely while you carry our child?”  
  
Not sure if his glib tongue was feeding her a slick lie she wanted to hear or telling her the truth, she still   
felt relieved.  “I’m going to hold you to that, Mr. Steele.”  
  
“Steele’s word is his bond, remember?”  
  
“I do.”  She shifted so that her arms were around his neck.  “And at the risk of sounding banal, I’m …   
we’re hungry,” she said with a smile.  
  
Remington’s whole heart lifted as he eased her off the counter and held her in a long, tight hug.  It was   
the first time since arriving back in Los Angeles that he honestly believed their life would be good again.  
  
*****  
  
On Monday, Remington hovered over Laura in her office while she made an appointment with an   
obstetrician for the following morning.  On account of her knee injury, she’d been able to squeeze into   
the doctor’s busy schedule a day or two earlier than usual.  
  
Mildred knew something was up with her kids.  The pair arrived at eight-thirty on the dot, and their   
smiles lit up the office as they breezed through.  Well, as much as anyone on a pair of crutches could   
breeze through anywhere.  Since her habit was to keep the door to her office wide open unless she had a   
client, she noted the comings and goings of each person in the agency.  
  
She was years past the point of being just an employee and had no qualms about following Mr. Steele   
into his office moments after he'd picked up his stack of files from Ian.  He was hanging his coat across   
the back of his chair when she came in and shut the door.  
  
“Sure have a bright smile on your face today, Boss.”  Long ago the private investigator had figured out   
that Mr. Steele was the easier mark when it came to prying information out of the couple.  He was   
helpless to the “mom” look she’d perfected while on the IRS fraud squad.  Only now she used it for real.  
  
“Do I?”  He felt conspicuous--as if the whole world could read his thoughts and emotions right now.  
  
“Considering the hang-dog expressions around here last week, I could use a little good news.”  She   
crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows while she waited.  
  
He glanced at the open connecting door and made a sudden decision.  “Laura?”  
  
“Hmmm?”  
  
“Do you have a moment?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Remington held his hand out for Mildred to precede him into Laura’s office.  The older woman took a   
seat and eyeballed the two of them.  Taking in his proud smile and her slight blush, it took only a   
moment.  She covered her cheeks with her hands.  “Are you--”  
  
Laura nodded, and Mildred practically flew around the desk to give the pair hugs of joy.  She dashed   
away tears as Remington held out his handkerchief.  “Oh my, this is wonderful!  When did you find out?”  
  
With a wry look at Remington, Laura answered, “We’ve suspected for a week but found out for certain   
on Saturday.  We’ve got our first appointment tomorrow with the obstetrician.”  
  
Mildred cocked her head at the couple and put her hands on her hips, hankie dangling from one hand.    
She gave them both a narrow-eyed look.  “This wasn’t an accident either.”  
  
For perhaps the first time in his thirty-five years, Remington flushed.  “Ah, no.  It wasn’t.”  
  
Laura tossed her head back and laughed at his discomfiture.  “Rei, why don’t you get some tea, and I   
can fill in Mildred on _exactly_ how we decided it was time.”  
  
Turning an even darker shade of red, he bolted.  As he pulled the door closed, he heard his traitorous   
wife as she recounted, “When we got to Ireland, Mr. Steele lifted my pills and hid them in his suitca--”    
He shut the door firmly and proceeded to splash cold water on his face before anyone could discover his   
utter mortification.  
  
After the laughter quit echoing around Laura’s office, she did ask Mildred to keep the news to herself.  “I   
want to wait a while.  Mr. Steele and I need to work out how we are going to make changes in the   
agency.  I’m sure some of them will be temporary, but others will probably be permanent.”  
  
“Any ideas yet as to what they might be?”  
  
“Some, but give me a few days.  I suspect Mr. Steele will have a few thoughts too.”  
  
  
  
And did he!  For starters, Remington spent the entire morning researching and making plans to upgrade   
the technology used in the agency.  At lunch he disappeared, returning afterward with shopping bags and   
calling for a staff meeting in his office.  
  
Ian forwarded the telephones to the answering service and took a seat in one of the chairs he moved   
from in front of the desk.  Laura and Mildred took up the sofa while Kaleb and Sandra flanked them in   
the armchairs.  Mr. Steele passed out small black squares to each of them.  
  
It was a running joke in the agency that Mr. Steele was the first to adopt any new technology--as long as   
it didn’t involve a computer--and Mrs. Steele was the last.  It had taken Mildred years to convince Laura   
to put the case files into the computer, and the latter still insisted on having paper backups.  
  
Remington was steadily changing all that.  Since his wife had made him an equal partner in the agency a   
year ago, he’d set out to capitalize on the rapidly evolving technology that would make their jobs easier   
and safer.  New listening devices, smaller cameras, even better disguises were all a part of their growing   
arsenal.  Installing the phone in the Rabbit had actually occurred shortly after their marriage, and since   
Laura now drove the Lexus, the aging VW was used by whoever needed it in the agency.  For a   
nondescript car in a stakeout, it was still an excellent choice, and the telephone had come in handy more   
than once.  
  
“Pagers?” Laura asked.  
  
“Pagers.  I want all of us to be able to get a message to one another when necessary.  I’m looking into   
cellular phone technology, but for the moment, the telephones in the cars will do.  What is out there right   
now is too bulky to discretely carry on your person, so it would be left in the car anyhow.”  
  
Next, he withdrew what looked like a reduced version of a Sony Walkman from the bag along with a   
remarkably small earpiece.  Each person received one of those as well.  “This is a short range radio,   
small and light enough to be worn under your clothing.  With this, you can communicate with your   
partner up to approximately two miles away.  These are made to automatically change frequencies   
together every couple of minutes to foil anyone listening in.  I’ve already set them up to scroll through   
seven different channels, and I’ll give you the list and the order for reference.  I expect each of you to   
keep this handy.  If you get into a jam, keep your wire with you, and we’ll be able to find you as long as   
we know approximately where you are.”  
  
He added with a wide grin.  “Have fun playing, and let’s figure out how we can make the best use of our   
new toys.”  Kaleb returned his grin and immediately put his head together with Ian to connect their new   
wires.  Mildred eyed her pager with relish while Laura stared hers into submission.  Sandra simply   
clipped hers to her belt and competently set up the wire faster than either of the younger men.  
  
As the crew disbursed with toys and lists of phone numbers to memorize, Laura stayed on the sofa and   
waited for Mildred to close the door.  Quizzically, she waited.  
  
Expecting annoyance from her, Remington tried for honesty.  “I need to know that you can get in touch   
with me no matter where either of us might be.  This isn’t so I can keep track of you, Laura.  This is for   
me.  I expect as things … develop,” he twitched his eyebrows at her, “you’ll be in the office more.  I   
want you to be able to reach me whenever you need.”  
  
“And the rest of the team?”  
  
“It will get them used to staying in contact with each other.”  Now he waited.  He hadn’t discussed any   
of this with her, and he anticipated her anger, not because she disagreed but because they normally made   
decisions affecting the agency as a team.  But he had an insatiable urge to _do_ something that would   
protect Laura without stifling her independence.  
  
“All right.”  She sighed and rose, clipping her pager to her slacks as she balanced on the crutches and   
then moved to perch on the corner of his desk.  “Show me how the wires are different from what we’ve   
been using.”  
  
He clipped the unit to the back of her slacks as well and ran the thin cord through her shirt.  “You can   
use this with or without the earpiece.  If you don’t use it, it will become a simple, hidden microphone that   
your partner can monitor.  With the earpiece, you’ll have full two-way communication.”  Out of habit, he   
pressed his lips to her cheek as he settled the pieces in place.  
  
“I can think of a few situations where something like this could have been very handy.”  
  
“Yes.  The incident with the Palace of Heaven comes to mind; Platinum Air is another.”  
  
They spent another twenty minutes testing the equipment until Laura could set and adjust it behind her   
back or with her eyes closed.  In the meantime, she made contact with the others in the office as they   
played with their own sets.  The last thing any of them needed was to be fumbling with equipment while   
undercover.  
  
“All right then,” she repeated when she was comfortable.  “I’ve got a couple of contracts to finish out,   
and then I’m off to therapy.”  
  
Remington scowled as she disconnected the wire and wrapped it into a neat coil.  “Laura, you’re not   
going to give me grief over this?”  
  
“No.  You’re quite right.  Changes will have to be made, and this is an excellent start.  Really, we should   
have had pagers years ago.  And the wires are much better than anything we've had.”  She returned the   
kiss to his cheek and made her way back to her own office.  
  
He stared at her back, wondering where he went wrong.

 

 

 


	5. Healing

_Johnny stared at the reports.  He’d spent the last two weeks shifting his assets among off-shore  
accounts, and Interpol had tracked them down nearly as fast as he'd moved them.  
  
He’d bribed everyone he could think of to drop the case--to no avail.  Some agent by the name of   
Buchanan was determined to bring the Dublin Six down.  Tommy O’Meara was already behind bars   
without bail, and word was that Berk Garrity was on the run.  
  
He blamed O’Callaghan, of course, but that didn’t change the fact that the man had pissed off someone   
good and proper.  Whoever it was had brought in Interpol to nail him to the wall and appeared to be   
taking down his associates at the same time.  He hadn’t thought Ciarán had that kind of power and the   
connections to pull it off … but apparently he did.  
  
He did wonder why Ciarán had bothered to warn him.  Certainly, there was no love lost between   
them.  Then again, without the tip, he might have blamed this all on the itinerant thief.  
  
Johnny scratched his head and downed the last of his whiskey before slamming the glass on the table   
in frustration.  
  
  
_Physical therapy ended on a good note for Laura.  The crutches were retired in favor of a metal knee   
brace that she would wear for the next two weeks.  She was chagrined to be told that pregnancy would   
only slow down the rehabilitation process.  Because a woman’s ligaments naturally loosen up while   
expecting, she would have to rebuild them carefully to ensure they were strong and flexible in the end.    
But the therapist had given her cautious hope that her knee was healing well--even while warning that the   
coming week would be painful as the leg muscles adapted to walking again.    
  
When she left, she directed Fred to an unfamiliar address and asked him to wait for her.  Once he saw   
she'd made it inside the four-story white building, he pulled out Patricia Cornwall’s latest novel and lost   
himself in the quirks and turns of her latest mystery.  
  
Laura walked into Dr. Angelo’s office with a confidence she didn’t feel, automatically noting that the   
décor hadn’t changed much since her last visit.  The sofa was new, as were the lamps on the side tables,   
but the psychologist’s enormous desk and the soothing landscapes on the wall still graced the room.    
Mariah brought her a glass of water and indicated the couch where Laura gingerly sat on the edge.  
  
The counselor took in the woman’s carefully neutral face and commented, “You’re not a failure because   
you walked through that door.”  Laura’s face crumpled, and her eyes watered as she buried her face in   
her hands.  
  
Mariah waited patiently with her fingers clasped around her knee and watched her patient cry.  In six   
years, Laura hadn’t changed much, still sporting that freshness of face associated with youth.  Her hair   
was shorter, only shoulder-length rather than falling to the middle of her back, but even now she held   
herself erect in the way only years of dance instruction will impart.  As Laura regained control of her   
emotions and dropped her hands into her lap, Dr. Angelo noted the dark smudges under her eyes and the   
hollow look of one who hasn’t been sleeping or eating well.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Laura automatically said, brushing the wetness off her face.  She despised weeping--seeing it  
as a sign of weakness.  For the last month though, it seemed that it was all she’d done.  
  
“For what?”  
  
“Losing control, I suppose.”  She yanked another tissue out of the box resting on the coffee table to mop   
up mascara and tears.  
  
“I didn’t see you lose control.  I saw you reacting honestly to your emotions.”  Mariah knew from past   
experience with Miss Holt--Mrs. Steele now--that the detective’s own brain was her best asset in battling   
whatever demons beset her.  Most of the struggle was in getting those emotions out where she could see   
them and give them a fair assessment.  “Tell me about today.”  
  
This was an old routine and Laura rubbed her arms.  “The morning started off all right.  We made an   
appointment with the obstetrician and told Mildred, our senior investigator, the good news.”  
  
“Why tell her?”  
  
“Because she’s the closest Remington has to a mother.  And because she figured out something was up.    
She was there in Ireland helping us.”  
  
"Yes, the intuition of mothers everywhere.  Have you told your family?”  
  
“Not yet.  I … no, not yet,” she repeated without rancor.  “I will … when I’ve got myself more   
together.  They’re still looking for answers about … about what happened, and I’m not ready to deal   
with them and this too.”  Inwardly, Dr. Angelo smiled.  Last time there had been a great deal of   
animosity between Laura and her family.  It appeared that might not be the case anymore.  She made a   
mental note to discuss it later.  
  
“What else happened today?”  
  
Laura flinched and picked at her nail.  “Remington upgraded some of the technology in the office.  Gave   
everyone beepers.”  
  
“And that bothers you?”  
  
“No.  Yes. … No, because it’s a good idea.  Yes, because we didn’t talk about it first … which is really   
just an excuse.  It's sensible and smart.  We should have done it years ago.”  She fell silent.  
  
“But--” Mariah prompted.  
  
“But it’s a harbinger of things to come.  I want … I want to have a family, but I don’t want to give up   
being a detective.  I love hunting down clues, putting them together and solving the mystery.  And I like   
doing it with Mr. Steele.”  
  
“So what’s wrong with that?”  
  
“Just before we married, he asked me if I was planning to keep this up if I had children one day.  He   
asked if I was going to ‘feed the little tykes breakfast in the morning and then rush off to a nice, juicy   
murder.’  At the time we made a joke of it, but now I’m not too sure he didn’t mean it.”  
  
“You were partners before you married, right?  I’ve read the papers.  How have things changed since   
you've tied the knot?”  
  
Laura shrugged.  “In some ways we haven’t changed at all.  I think we’re better than before, but I   
attribute that to experience and knowing each other well.  We are more careful about diving into   
dangerous situations, but we both get a certain thrill out of them.”  
  
“What do you think will change now?”  
  
“I think … no, I know Remington won’t allow us to put a child in danger of being without both of his or   
her parents.  If something is that risky, he’ll insist that only one of us go.”  
  
“Do you disagree?”  
  
“On one hand I see his point; it’s a valid and important one.  On the other hand, we’ve been successful   
these past six years because we make an excellent team.”  
  
“Are you angry with him?”  
  
“No.  Why should I be?”  
  
“Are you angry with yourself?”  A long silence followed her question.  “Laura?”  
  
She slid her hands under her thighs before she answered. “I thought I would be ready to be more of a   
mentor and a supervisor to other detectives before I had children--ready to sit back and let others do the   
work.  I thought I would lose my taste for the action.  But I haven’t--at all.”  
  
Dr. Angelo changed tactics.  “Do you have to make a permanent decision?  All or nothing right now?”  
  
Light came into Laura’s eyes.  “No.”  Now why didn’t I think of that?  
  
Now Mariah smiled.  “So make the decisions that are sensible for the next year and reevaluate then.  I   
can’t tell you what is right in the long run.  Only you can decide that.”  Seeing her patient relax gave her   
the opportunity to delve deeper.  “Now tell me about your homework assignment.  Obviously, you told   
your husband.”  
  
“I did.  We had a picnic.”  Laura told the story with a reflective smile.  
  
When she was finished, Dr. Angelo asked, “How’s he handling Ireland?”  
  
Jumping a little at the change in subjects, Laura shifted in discomfort before answering.  “I don’t know.  I   
noticed his knuckles were bruised on Saturday.  That usually means he’s angry and working it out on the   
punching bag.”  
  
“You haven’t talked about it?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
Laura looked down at her hands.  “Because I know he feels terrible about what he did.  I don’t want to   
make him feel worse.”  
  
“Why do you think he feels terrible?”  
  
“I’m certain that he thinks he abandoned me in the castle.  He and Murphy had at least one disagreement   
about letting me … get out on my own.  Murphy was livid.”  
  
“So why aren’t you angry about it?”  
  
“Rei trusted me.  No one else would have done that.”  Laura picked at her nail again.  “Even Murph   
would have blown the whole thing by trying to get me out by himself.”  
  
Playing hard ball with her, Mariah probed.  “But you were seriously injured.  How could he possibly   
have known you would get to safety?  From what you told me, you were hardly conscious when Ms.   
Sweeney found you.”  
  
Laura’s eyes blazed in anger as she sat up straight.  “First, if Rei had tried to get me out personally, he   
would have failed.  O’Callaghan didn’t want me; he wanted Remington.  If he’d disappeared with me,   
they would have come after us within a few minutes.  Second, if Rei hadn’t taken a car after making his   
own escape, they would have searched on foot and found him ... and me.  If the car had been anywhere   
near the castle, they still might have found both of us.  But none of that happened.  Rei took a look at my   
injuries and saw that I could get out.  He’d been watching me and knew that I’d already figured out that   
the window was the best avenue of escape and that I could pick the lock.  Then he bought me nearly two   
hours to do just that before making his own move.”  
  
“How could he possibly know that you could break out as injured as you were?”  
  
“Because he knows me and what I can do.”     
  
Mariah cocked her head.  “What about the rest of it?  What he did to you?”  
  
Furious, Laura snapped, “Sorry, Dr. Angelo.  You’re not going to get me to put any blame on   
Remington.  He did exactly what he had to do.  He didn’t cause any of this.  You want to point the finger   
at someone?  You’re going to have to point it at a dead man.”  
  
“Then why are you angry with yourself?  You had no control over the situation any more than your   
husband.”  
  
Laura didn’t have an answer.  She rose and began pacing as much as her new brace would allow.    
Eventually, she crossed to the window and looked into the street as she made herself think about     
Mariah’s words.  “Damn.”  She glanced at the counselor with a wry expression and an arched brow   
before looking back down.  “Never try to evade a detective or a determined husband.”  Remington was   
leaning against the Auburn and chewing a toothpick as he stared at the building.  
  
As if to herself, Laura began speaking while she watched him.  “Do you know what it’s like to find the   
one person that you can’t fool?  For a year and a half, I'd pulled off one of the biggest cons in the city.    
And then he walked into my life and turned it upside down.  If I hide, he finds me.  If I lie, he calls me   
on it.  If I play a role, he steps in--smooth as silk--and stays in character with me.”  She fell silent.  
  
Mariah cocked her head.  “So what’s the attraction?  I would think someone like that would irritate you--  
with your not having the upper hand.”  
  
Laughter hung in the air.  “It’s irritating, annoying and fascinating as hell.  But I don’t let him get away   
with any of it either.  Not with me.  It doesn’t matter where he comes from.  He tries to protect me from   
his past, but I can handle it.”  
  
“How bad was it?”  
  
Laura turned haunted eyes to Mariah.  “No one should have to live as he did.  It’s criminal what he went   
through.  The wonder of it is that he has this amazing capacity for love.  He’s terrified of being a father   
because he doesn’t know how to be one.  Because of that, he’s going to be brilliant at it.”  Her whole   
body relaxed as her eyes lit up in anticipation.  
  
“You love him.”  
  
Laura’s voice dropped to a notch above a whisper.  “So much that when I thought he was killed, I didn’t   
want to live either.  I didn’t want to imagine life without him.  And that’s cowardly.  Remington told me   
years ago that the only choice any of us ever have is to go on even when our whole world falls apart.”  
  
Mariah re-crossed her legs and smiled inwardly.  Now she knew why Laura was angry at herself and   
could help her deal with it.  “All right.  You want a candid assessment of that?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Don’t confuse grief with life.  What you were thinking and feeling was absolutely understandable at the   
moment.  But if you honestly wanted to end your life, you would have sat down in that freezing river.  In   
ten minutes, you would have been asleep.  In an hour, you might have been dead.  I’ll lay money the   
thought never crossed your mind.”  
  
Laura sat on the sofa again in surprise and smoothed her skirt.  The black cloud lightened substantially,   
though not entirely.  “No.  You’re correct.”  
  
“Think about it, Laura.  That’s enough for today.  We’ll meet Wednesday at the same time.  Work on   
the rest of your homework.”  
  
Knowing that hugging your therapist wasn’t exactly professional, Laura held out her hand and squeezed   
Mariah’s.  “Thank you.  I think we’re probably even.”  
  
“We’ll never be even, Laura.  I’ll see you in a couple of days.”  
  
  
  
Laura exited the front doors of the building.  The Auburn had replaced the limousine, and Remington still  
waited patiently as he leaned against the car.  He raised a brow when he saw the crutches had vanished.    
She walked with a slight hitch in her step due to the brace, but she was on two feet again.  From past   
experience he knew that by the end of the week, no one would know she was wearing it unless it showed.  
  
With her odd behavior that afternoon and his pledge to himself not to let things get out of hand again,     
he’d called Fred a few minutes after she'd finished with her therapy to learn if she was going home or   
coming back to the office.  The driver, with his usual quiet reserve, indicated that Mrs. Steele had a   
different destination in mind and gave him the address.  
  
Laura stopped in front of him and stared at his jacket lapels before raising her eyes to meet his.  “I guess   
you called Fred?”  
  
“I, uh, thought we might go for tea after your session.  Want to tell me whom you were seeing in here?”    
He waved his toothpick toward the edifice behind her.  “This is a professional building chock full of   
counselors and doctors of all kinds.  We’re not working a case that would call for that.”  
  
Looking away, Laura stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets.  “I went to talk to an old friend.  I   
needed--need--to clear my head about Ireland.”  
  
“All right.”  He hugged her, longer than usual, and then led her around the car and opened the door.  
  
She cocked her head as he pulled away from the curb.  “No questions?”  
  
“If this is what you need to do, Laura, I’m not going to second-guess your decision.”  He didn’t speak   
for a minute as he wove through the LA traffic.  “I see you’ve lost your crutches.”  
  
Brightening, she looked down at her knee.  “Yes.  It is sore though.  We did several new exercises, and    
it’s beginning to stiffen up.  I can’t wait to get into the hot tub.”  
  
Thinking about the way she’d isolated herself these past two weeks, he was somewhat diffident as he   
asked, “Care for company this time?”  
  
Slanting a warm look that thrilled him in his belly, she replied, “I’d love some.”  
  
  
  
Later, Remington held Laura in his arms as the bubbles danced and streamed against his skin.  His wife   
had boosted the temperature up, but he stayed her hand when she would have let it hover just under   
scalding.  “Not too hot today.”  
  
“Why not?”  She drew her brows together.  
  
He tugged at his ear.  “I’ve been reading one of those books we picked up on Saturday.  Can’t have the   
water too hot for … you.”  
  
“For me?  Or for the baby?”  
  
“Ah, the latter, I think.”  
  
Languorously, Laura turned in his arms until she sat across his lap.  He brushed her damp hair back,   
appreciating the way it hung to her shoulders in little ringlets.  “Already worrying about me?” she asked.  
  
“Some.  But wondering, mostly.”  
  
“About what?”  She dropped her head onto his shoulder and traced her finger around his chest, playing in   
the wet curls.  
  
“How you feel?  I’d like to know if you’ve noticed any differences yet.”  He absently massaged her knee.  
  
She raised her head again to look him in the eye.  “Can you?”  
  
“I don’t know if it’s fanciful imaginings, but I rather think you’re fuller here,” he touched the curve of   
her small breast, “and here.”  He laid his hand on her belly, and a curious smile crossed his face.  “The   
idea of a little tyke bouncing around still seems peculiar, Laura.”  
  
“On that I’ll have to agree.  And in answer to your question, I’m a little sore--as you figured out the other   
day.  I’ve had a couple of moments of nausea, and I can’t keep my eyes open half the time.  It’s a little   
disconcerting to be talking to a client and have to pinch my wrist to keep awake.”  She dropped her head   
onto his shoulder again and closed her eyes.  “Did that book happen to tell you how long that might be   
the case?”  
  
“Hmm.  Maybe a month or two?”  He chuckled when Laura groaned.  
  
“I wouldn’t laugh too hard.  If I’m asleep, it means you have to cover for me.”  
  
“Don’t remind me.  Of course, even legwork might be preferable to the media circus of these last two   
weeks.”  A faint crease marred his brow in remembrance of the rounds of television, radio and   
newspaper interviews to which he’d been subjected.  Most of the time he didn’t mind being the agency   
front-man, but he’d found himself resenting the attention after the third day.  By the beginning of the   
second week, his patience had been sorely tested, and he was grateful to be considered “old news” as the   
media moved on to other, more current events.  
  
Sighing heavily, Laura pondered the questions she’d had for most of the day.  “What are we going to   
do?”  
  
Remington raised a brow.  Ah, here it comes.  “About what?”  
  
“The agency.  My working.  I … I’m wondering how much you are going to let me do.”  
  
His mouth gaped while he grasped to make some sort of connection in his brain synapses.  He leaned his   
head back so that he could see her eyes.  “Laura, in what universe did you ever think I would dictate   
what you can and can’t do while you’re pregnant?  Logic says you’ll have some limitations, but I don’t   
think I’m the one to determine what they’ll be.”  
  
Suspiciously, she leaned back so she could see his face better.  “Not even a little bit?”  
  
Very seriously, he asked, “Are you planning on tackling a suspect?  Or stepping into a building where   
someone is brandishing a gun?”  
  
“It’s not on my agenda, but you know that sometimes things get out of hand.”  
  
“Then when things get out of hand, I hope you’ll keep in mind that your well-being isn’t the only one at   
stake.”  Laura didn’t say anything to that, just rested her head on his shoulder and sighed.  
  
Remington held her there, still taken aback by her seeming submissiveness.

 

 


	6. Disclosure

_Interpol agent James Buchanan walked through the doors of the SIS building in Vauxhall Cross, also  
known as the headquarters of MI6 in London.  The director met him at security and cleared him.  As   
they walked down a short passageway, the director spoke, “We’re glad to have you again, Mr.   
Buchanan.  As you requested, I’ve arranged for one of our American compatriots to assist the   
investigation of the Dublin Six.”  
  
"I appreciate that.  We’ve tracked a number of assets to the United States.  We’re spread so thin on this   
one that we need all the help we can get.  We’re too damned close to shutting all of them down to let   
anyone wiggle away because of a lack of manpower.”  
  
“I’d heard one was dead and two were behind bars.”  
  
“And I’ve got one more up against the wall.  We get him and the other two will fall like dominoes.”  
  
“Excellent.  Cunningham is here already, and he’s briefed the American on our operations here, but   
he’ll need more details of this incident with O’Callaghan and what you’ve learned from that.  I didn’t   
have clearance from you to release that information.”  
  
“What’s his name?”  
  
“Tony Roselli.”  
  
  
  
_The next morning Remington accompanied Laura to the obstetrician.  They came away with their heads   
stuffed with knowledge, reassurance that the pregnancy was quite for real, a giant bottle of prenatal   
vitamins and a prescription for safe pain medication.  The expectant father repeatedly raked his hand   
through his hair while he took it all in.  His wife absorbed the new information with a calm acceptance he   
certainly wasn’t feeling.  
  
He thought he’d done a good job covering up his vibrating nerves that day at the office, but at two in the   
afternoon, Laura invented a new client they needed to see (a Mr. Thornhill), and they spent the   
afternoon watching North by Northwest at the cinema (Cary Grant, Eva Marie Saint, MGM, 1959).  He   
hadn’t been able to concentrate on the movie at all.  Instead, he fretted about the conversation they’d had   
last evening.  
  
Laura took note of the small gestures indicating Remington’s edginess despite his calm exterior.    
Assuming that this was all about his getting used to the idea of being a father, she did her best to soothe   
him while giving him time to adjust.  She deliberately complained enough about her knee that he insisted   
they fill her prescription and go home so she could soak it in the Jacuzzi.  Since the movie hadn’t calmed   
him, tactic number two involved seducing him in the bubbling waters.  She thought she’d succeeded as   
they snuggled on the bed for a quick nap afterward.  
  
An hour later, Laura had just sat up when their phone rang, startling Remington from his sleep.    
Automatically, he picked up the receiver.  “Steele here.”  
  
“Are you ever going to learn to say ‘hello,’ like normal people?”  Kathleen’s teasing tones woke him.    
  
“Now why would I want to be just like everyone else, Kate?”  He smiled and handed the phone to Laura   
without further ado.  
  
She rolled to her side so that the cord draped across her husband while she talked.  “Hi, Katy.”    
  
“Oh.  Hi, Laura.  I hate it when he does that.”  
  
“That’s why he does it,” Laura chuckled while Remington batted the line to keep it from landing on his   
throat, gave up and crawled out from underneath it.  He sat on the edge of the bed.  
  
“You sound better.  A lot better, sis.”  Kate sounded relieved.  
  
“I feel better.  When are you guys coming down?  Murphy was making noises.”  
  
“Actually, we’re both free this weekend.  Are you up to it?”  
  
Laura turned to Remington.  “This weekend?” she repeated.  He shrugged and nodded.  “Sure.  When?”  
  
“Can we come Thursday and leave on Sunday?”  
  
“I’ve still got therapy on Friday, but otherwise I think one or both of us can clear those days.  Do you   
want to stay with us, with Mom or with Frances?”  
  
“Your place if you can handle the twin terrors.”  
  
“We’ll manage the twins.”  Laura gave Remington a sly look as she and Kate worked out the logistics of   
housing the small fry.  The last time the young boys had stayed at the Steeles' penthouse, they hadn’t   
been very mobile and slept handily in the portable crib borrowed from Frances.  This time would require   
a little more creativity.  
  
  
  
While Laura talked to her sister, Remington closed his eyes in an attempt to shut out the dark thoughts.    
He wanted to run.  The temptation to simply board the next plane to whatever destination it might take   
him in order to get away from this pain was enormous.  But he couldn’t walk away from Laura any more   
than he could cut out his own heart--for they were one and the same.  He didn’t feel trapped; he simply   
didn’t know how to cope with the magnitude of guilt he was experiencing on top of the realization that he  
was going to be a father and the way Laura had been acting lately.  
  
Nothing in his years as a con artist had taught him how to be in a long-term relationship.  Learning had   
begun the day he’d decided to step into “Remington Steele’s” shoes, and it hadn’t stopped yet.  Anytime   
a situation became too difficult prior to that, even with Daniel, Remington would simply leave--finding a   
new game to play until matters settled down again of their own accord.  
  
Since meeting Laura, Remington stifled those urges to run by disappearing for a few days here and there   
as he learned to deal honestly with his own emotions.  In the early days, he’d generally left thinking that   
“this was it,” and that he was going to move on.  He found, to his irritation, that he couldn’t leave   
permanently.  Laura, without even knowing that she did, would draw him back in.  
  
Their longest separation--when he’d fled to London looking for his real name--had left both of them   
miserable.  When they’d returned, their relationship had changed, and he found himself spending nearly   
every weekend with Laura--drastically limiting the opportunities for those disappearances without   
frightening her into thinking he was going to leave her.  
  
But, once they’d married, he’d only made it six months before giving in and holing up in Vegas for a few   
days.  Again though, Laura reeled him in--this time by coming after him and helping him deal with the   
issues he’d been unable to clarify even for himself.  She’d left him there and waited for him to come   
home.  
  
Since that day, he’d left only one other time--and he’d told her where and why he was going.  Laura had   
said she understood when he’d tried to explain.  And perhaps she did, but he knew it still played on her   
deepest fears of abandonment, and hurting her was the last he wanted to do.  Just lately, he’d been   
congratulating himself on finding other ways to cope that didn’t involve packing an overnight bag.  
  
But when his mind was roaring at him as it was now, he needed to get out.  
  
  
  
After telling her sister goodbye, Laura handed Remington the telephone, which he dropped onto the   
cradle.  He closed his arms around her, holding her close.  
  
“Still nervous?” she asked.  When the silence stretched out, she looked up.  His eyes were cool and flat--  
a sure indicator that he was concealing something.  “Rei?”  
  
He abruptly stood.  “I need time, Laura.”  Swiftly, he changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants.  
  
Confused by his reaction, her voice was sharper than she intended.  “Where are you going?”  
  
He paused at the bedroom door.  “Ah, the gym.”  She heard him snatch his car keys off the counter and   
the snick as he locked the front door behind him.  
  
Laura sat on the bed and wondered what had just happened.  
  
  
  
He called later, but he didn’t come home that night.  Or the next.  
  
  
  
When Murphy and Kate arrived in the limo on Thursday afternoon with cranky toddlers that were   
obviously overdue for their nap, Laura did her best to pretend that all was well in the Steele household.    
Each of the parents took a child and soothed him until he fell asleep.  Aiden promptly sprawled out in the   
playpen borrowed from Frances while Ian curled up so that his little bottom poked into the air.  
  
Laura repaired her makeup one more time.  She’d been nauseated for much of the last two days and   
didn’t want to look it.  As she made a last pass in the flat to make certain all looked normal, the sick   
feeling came roaring back.  She brushed her teeth afterward and, still feeling ill, sat back down on the   
bathroom floor.  
  
Kate found her there, resting her head on her knees.  She instantly dropped down beside her sister and   
began stroking her hair.  “Laura?  Oh sweetie, what’s wrong?  You should have told us you weren’t   
feeling well.  We could have rescheduled.”  
  
At that, Laura gave her a wan smile.  “I’m not sick, Kate.”  
  
“Could have fooled me.”  Laura just looked at her for a long moment before dawning understanding   
brightened Kate’s face.  “Oh.  Hello.  You’re pregnant.  Oh!”  Kate hugged Laura and yelled for her   
husband.  “Murphy … Murphy!”  
  
He popped his head into the bathroom and frowned when he saw the girls on the floor.  “Oh, Laura, are   
you okay?”  But the twins each held out a hand, and he helped them to their feet.  
  
“She’s pregnant.”  Kate all but caroled the news, delighted for her twin.  
  
Murphy eyeballed Laura and her tremulous smile before enfolding her in an enormous hug.  “Congrats,   
old friend.  Where’s Steele so I can give him crap about it?” he teased.    
  
But his former partner straightened up and brushed a stray tear away.  “I don’t know.”  And she walked   
out the bathroom door.  
  
Murphy caught her arm.  “What do you mean ‘I don’t know’?”  
  
“I mean that after I got off the phone with Kate on Tuesday evening, he said he had to go to the gym.  I   
haven’t seen him since.  He leaves me messages saying that he’ll be back soon.”  She squared her   
shoulders and told herself not to cry.   _Damn hormones for sapping my control.  
  
_ The string of curses that spewed from Murphy was long, creative and included an incomplete list of the   
things he was going to do to Steele when he turned up.  He spent the next ten minutes grilling Laura   
about the facts of the last two days.  He ended it with a short four-letter word and asked Laura for her   
keys.  
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
“I’m a detective.  I’m going to find him.”  He held up a hand to stifle her protest.  “Laura, I’ve given him   
a lot of slack over the years for things he’s done--because he makes you happy.  This time … this time   
isn’t going to cut it.”  He gave her a last hug and then framed Kate’s face with his hands before landing a   
hard kiss on her lips.  “Take care of Laura.  I’ll keep in touch and let you know where I am.”  
  
  
  
Murphy drove the Lexus, starting with the gym he knew his brother frequented because somehow, in his   
gut, he really didn’t think the man would go very far.  The young man at the front desk nodded when   
asked if he’d seen Steele.  “Sure thing.  He’s been in a bunch the last couple of days.  Been taking on   
nearly anyone who’ll get in the ring.”  
  
“Who’s winning?”  
  
“He is, mostly.  But one or two have gone the distance with him and won a bout.”  
  
“When was the last time you saw him?”  
  
“This morning.”  
  
With a nod to the desk clerk, Murphy settled in to do a little surveillance work.  He figured Steele would   
make Laura’s car with a glance, so he parked it in a nearby garage and made himself comfortable in a   
run-down diner across the street to watch the front door.  Four cups of coffee and a deliciously greasy   
cheeseburger later, there was still no sign of the missing man when the gym closed for the night.  
  
He called the penthouse from the car phone and Kate answered.  “Hi, honey.”  
  
“Found anyone interesting today?” she quipped.  
  
“Not yet, but I do know for certain that he’s somewhere nearby.  How’s Laura holding out?”  
  
“At the moment, she’s sleeping.  She’s been alternating between making excuses for him and wanting to   
murder him the moment he walks through the door.”  
  
“The latter sounds reasonable to me.  I’ve got a few other places I want to try.”  He disconnected the   
phone after telling her he loved her and drove to any place he could remember Laura mentioning: their   
old apartments, three favored restaurants, the pool hall that he and Steele patronized and a couple of   
different parks.  No one had seen him, and now it was after midnight.  
  
It was at the second park that Murphy had a flash of insight.  He pointed the car toward the agency.    
Sure enough, the Auburn was parked in the garage in its usual spot.  He made a quick call to Kate and   
then took the elevator to the twelfth floor.  Murphy was only one of three people outside the agency who   
knew how to disarm the security system.  With Laura’s key and his knowledge, he slipped inside the   
darkened office without a sound.  Light shone from under Steele’s office door.  
  
He found Remington sitting at his desk, dressed neatly in a white button-down shirt and dark slacks.    
Murphy smiled, knowing he’d guessed correctly that Steele would return to the office for a shower and   
change of clothes.  What he wasn’t expecting was to find him buried in paperwork.  
  
“Steele.”  The other man looked up with a neutral expression and then went back to reading the file he   
was holding.  Murphy dropped into the chair across from the desk and put his feet up.  “Are you not   
speaking to people in general, family in particular or just your wife?”  
  
Shadows crossed Remington’s face as he put the file down.  
  
He looked like hell.  Smudges under his eyes and a healthy bruise on his cheekbone stood in sharp   
contrast to the tailored clothes he wore.  Murphy continued to needle him.  “Congratulations, by the   
way.  Your wife has spent the last two days throwing up in the bathroom because she’s pregnant with   
your child.  She’s exhausted because she can’t sleep wondering where you are and why you left.  And   
typical of Laura, she’s covering for you at the office, saying you’ve been pulled out on a case.  Mildred   
didn’t buy it and let her know exactly why.  Now, if you can’t make explanations to her yet, you’re going   
to make them to me.”  
  
Remington picked up the file again and pretended to read it.  “I’m looking for answers.”  
  
“Damn it, Steele!”  Murphy stood up and slapped his hands down on the desk.  “Why is it that every   
time you need a fucking answer, you have to pull a disappearing act to find it?  That crap was only   
marginally acceptable before you married; now it shouldn’t even be an option.”  He loomed over the   
desk, and Remington pushed his chair back to put some distance between them.  
  
“Laura understands.  I left a message and told her I’d be back.  Actually, I’ve left several.”  
  
The former football player crossed his arms and shot him a hard look.  “No, Laura doesn’t understand.    
And every time you do it, she gets a little more frightened that one day you’ll have had enough of this life  
she created for you.”  
  
“Had enough?  Bloody hell, Murphy, I’m doing everything I can to preserve it.”  Remington’s distress   
exploded from him.  “Do you know what she asked me?”  Not waiting for an answer, he continued, “She   
asked me what I was going to ‘let’ her do in the agency.  Her agency.  I don’t care what the paperwork   
says.  This is her agency and it always has been.  Does that sound like Laura Holt?  This agency is her   
dream.  Mine is to have a family.  Does she have to give up hers so I can have mine?”  He spat out the   
words in staccato bullets as he threw the file on the stack with the others and stalked around the desk.  
  
Pacing like a panther at the edge of a river, looking for a way across without getting his feet wet, Steele   
dragged his hands through his hair repeatedly in his misery.  “I’ve been digging through case files--  
thinking up ways for her to stay as involved in the agency as she wants to be without putting her in      
harm’s way.  I’ve been reading through these damned pregnancy books to determine exactly what she   
should and shouldn’t do, but none of them has any information on dealing with a headstrong wife that   
runs a detective agency.”    
  
“I put in a safe room between our offices two years ago.  Do you want to see the plans for turning it into   
the nursery I’d always intended it to be so that she wouldn’t have to be torn between being a mother and   
a private investigator?  She’s damned good at what she does, and I can’t imagine having her give it all up   
for me.”  
  
Silence stretched out again before Murphy crossed his arms and leaned against the desk.  “Why haven’t   
you talked to her about any of this?”  
  
With no little sadness, he answered, “Because she’ll tell me what I want to hear, not what she wants.”  
  
Murphy cocked his head and discovered a small modicum of sympathy for his brother-in-law.  “That’s   
not a concept I’d normally associate with Laura.”  
  
“Since Ireland, that’s all she’s done,” he snapped again.  
  
“That was nearly a month ago.  Have you two … dealt with everything that happened there?”  Murphy   
frowned.  
  
“She’s talking to a … a therapist about it.”  Remington stared at the floor.  
  
“And you?”  
  
Steele shook his head.  “I’m fine.”  
  
Murphy used his razor-sharp brain and dug in.  “I don’t buy that bullshit.  And the fact that she’s seeing   
a doctor is pissing you off.”  Icy blue eyes slanted his way and then went back to contemplating the   
carpet.  “It is.  I can see it.  Why?”  
  
“If she needs to see a counselor, then that’s what she needs.”  
  
“Why, Steele?  What’s got you in a tizzy?”  
  
Steele flexed his hands and had to stifle the urge to kick something.  He jammed his hands into his   
pockets instead.  But he didn’t control the clipped British accent he resorted to when he was the most   
upset.  “A tizzy?  Maybe the fact that my wife is so bloody messed up over what I did to her that she   
needs professional help?  Maybe the fact that she no longer thinks the agency is hers?  Maybe the fact   
that she’s pregnant and thinks I’m going to make her give up her work?  Pick one, old boy.  Any of them   
will do.”  
  
Murphy closed his eyes and counted to twenty.  Twice.  Then he opened them.  “Get your crap.  You’re   
going home.”  
  
“Not yet.”  
  
“Now.”  
  
Steele was startled to realize that his brother was quite serious.  In fact, Murphy was furious with him, a   
rare occurrence indeed, given his legendary calm temperament.  Remington tried to placate him.    
“Murphy, really--it’s quite all right--Laura knows that sometimes I need to clear my head, and this is the   
best way.  We’ve worked it out between us.  She knows I’m not going to leave her.”  
  
“Tell that to your wife who hasn’t slept since Tuesday,” came the acid reply.  
  
Defeated, Remington gathered his coat, leaving the case files scattered all over the desk.  He hoped Ian   
wouldn’t lace his coffee with cyanide when he came back on Monday and found the mess.  
  
Not trusting Steele, Murphy insisted they leave the Auburn in the garage.  He drove and let Remington   
stew in uncomfortable silence.  When they were nearing the penthouse, he made a quick phone call to   
Kate.  “Can you wake Laura?” he asked his wife.  “Make some coffee … or tea.  It’s going to be a long   
night.”  
  
Feeling as if he were a scolded child, Steele offered, “Murph, you don’t have to do this.  This is between   
Laura and me.”  
  
Murphy shifted the Lexus into park at the apartments and turned to look at him.  “I was there in Ireland   
when you told me what happened while you were held captive, and I saw Laura’s reaction as she   
overheard what you said.  Laura seeing a therapist isn’t about what you were forced to do, but you need   
to hear it from her.”  A firm shove to the door slammed it shut, and he strode to the lobby.  Following in   
confused silence, Remington felt his head pounding with a rare headache.  
  
  
  
Remington took his first look at Laura in over forty-eight hours.  She sat on the sofa, cradling her tea in   
her hands.  Murphy was right.  It didn’t matter what messages he’d left; she was wrecked--and wearing   
one of his shirts to sleep in again.  She looked awful--nearly gaunt, with her hair pulled back in a   
ponytail.   _How much more can she take?_ he wondered.  Just once her eyes met his before sliding away   
and staring into her cup.  
  
Kate, looking like the heartbreakingly normal version of her twin, sat next to her and rubbed her   
shoulders, giving a sympathetic glance to him as he walked through the foyer door.  Laura had spent the   
afternoon and evening, when not playing with and caring for her nephews, confessing all that had   
happened in Ireland, her time with Dr. Angelo and her worries and hopes about their child.  Early on,   
Kate realized that Laura had said nothing to Remington about any of this for fear of hurting him further.    
It was hard seeing her sister this way but somehow encouraging.  She didn’t have the desperation about   
her she’d had after their father and Wilson had walked out.  Rather, she was weary of the daily struggle   
and wanted only to return to the calm waters she and Rei had enjoyed prior to their trip.  
  
Murphy poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Steele before indicating the sofa.  He shot a   
quizzical glance to his wife.  Kate nodded as they all took seats; he threw out the first pitch.  “There isn’t   
anything about Ireland that all four of us don’t know, so there isn’t anything to hide.  Remington, tell   
Laura the last thing you said to me at the agency--about why you’re upset she’s seeing a therapist.”  
  
Somewhat resentful of his brother-in-law’s highhanded tactics, Rei stiffened as Laura’s eyes snapped up   
from her cup to her husband.  “Why?” she breathed.  
  
If Laura hadn’t been waiting for him to talk, he might have stalked out of the room at Murphy’s orders.    
But with her bloodshot eyes resting on him, he leaned forward in the chair and set down his cup.  “I     
don’t want to think about why you’re talking to her instead of me.  I’m your husband, Laura, your   
partner in every way.  There hasn’t been anything that we haven’t dealt with together.  Except this.”  He   
rested his face in his hands for a moment and looked her in the eyes again.  “I know I’ve hurt you   
terribly--that you need professional help to deal with it.  And now I’ve trapped you with this pregnancy   
so that you can’t leave me.”  He shocked himself with the last admission and looked away.  He hadn’t   
realized it had been hiding in his psyche.  From the astonished looks of the others in the room, they     
hadn’t known either.  
  
Laura recovered first.  “I’m not seeing Dr. Angelo because of what you did.”  He looked up in surprise.    
“In fact, I told her very succinctly that if she expected me to be angry with you, she’s barking up the   
wrong tree.  From where I stand, you did everything right, including letting me get out by myself.  I don’t  
know anyone else, including Murphy, who could have seen all the possible options and realized that the   
one you chose was the only logical choice--and then had the belief that I could do it despite the condition   
I was in.  And I did do it.”  
  
She stifled a bout of nausea and sipped her tea.  “I’m seeing Mariah because I’m having too many   
nightmares about losing _you_.  I can’t get into Fred’s limo without seeing explosions.  When I get cold, I   
start thinking I’m going to see four stone walls.  When my leg hurts, I flashback to those goons attacking   
me.  She’s helping me work through all that.  It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with   
being kidnapped and thinking you were _dead_ , Rei.”  She choked on a sob but mercilessly forced it back   
down as she rubbed her heart.  “And as far as being pregnant?  If anyone is trapped here, it’s you   
because I know you’re incapable of leaving a child without a father.”  
  
Her words fell like a soft warm rain on the parched desert of his heart.  The cracks filled in, and he felt   
something break loose inside, allowing him to draw a full breath for the first time in weeks.  “I’m not   
trapped at all, Laura.  I’m exactly where I want to be.”  He looked her straight in the eyes, wishing hers   
weren’t rimmed in red.  “Why didn’t you tell me all of this?”  
  
“Because I know you feel terribly guilty about all of it already, and I didn’t want to make it worse.”  She   
set down her cup.  “I’m sorry.  I can’t keep anything down right now.  Even tea.”  She bolted for the   
bathroom, her stride uneven as the brace impeded her movement.  Remington didn’t hesitate to follow.  
  
  
  
Kate and Murphy retreated to the kitchen where she slid her arms around him.  She knuckled away her   
own tears while he rubbed his hands up and down her back.  “They’re in so much pain.  My God, the   
things that Laura told me today.  It isn't fair that they be tested so.  Haven’t they had enough?”  
  
“No, it isn’t fair at all.  It’s a wonder they’re still together after all these years.”  He rested his face   
against her dark hair.  “Steele’s had a hard life from what I’ve gathered.  Harder than most.  Laura’s the   
only woman I know who can take him for what he is and love him for all that.”  
  
“Not ‘in spite of’ but ‘because of.’  I hadn’t thought about it that way.  So what keeps her around?” she   
wondered.  
  
“Got me.”  He rolled his eyes and shrugged.  “Probably the fact that he annoys the hell out of her.”  He   
wasn’t quite ready to cut Steele much slack yet.  
  
Kate chuckled, reading his irritation for the care and concern that it was.  “You’re a good friend to both   
of them.”  She picked up the baby monitor on the kitchen counter, then ducked under his arm so they   
could walk down the hall to their bedroom together.  “Do you think they’ll be okay?” she asked.  
  
“They’re talking.  Really talking.  That’s always been their biggest struggle.  And we’ve got almost three   
more days if necessary, but I’ll bet they can do the rest.”  The protective parents peeked in on their   
sleeping boys and then spent the remainder of the night holding each other a little closer than usual.  
  
  
  
When Laura stopped heaving, Remington handed her a cool washcloth and a cup of water.  “You don’t   
have to drink it; just get the nasty taste out of your mouth.”  
  
She did and sponged her face with the cloth.  “I’ve spent a lot more time on this floor these past two   
days than I really care to.”  Unsteadily, she got to her feet with his help, and then he propped himself   
against the doorframe while she brushed her teeth.  Shoving the toothbrush into its holder, she said, “I’ve   
done a lot more of that too.”  Gingerly, Laura took two steps before Remington lifted her into his arms.    
She didn’t miss the slight hesitation as he straightened up and carried her to their bed.  
  
Her fingers flipped open three of his shirt buttons by the time he set her down.  Ruthlessly, she yanked   
the shirt from his pants and unfastened the rest.  Dark marks dotted his torso, front and back, from the   
hours he’d spent in the boxing ring.  “Either you’re getting slower or you’re taking on too many   
opponents.  Which is it?”  
  
Remington rotated one arm and slipped the shirt off the rest of the way so she could test his ribs with   
sure fingers.  “Ah, the latter, I think--Laura!” He swore under his breath.  
  
“It’s not broken.  You’ll live.”  
  
“Such a tender nurse.”  He grimaced as he unbuckled his belt.  
  
“You get tender, loving care when you don’t voluntarily hand yourself over to being pummeled.”  
  
“Laura--“  A soft warning sounded in his voice as he rose.  They’d had this conversation several times   
already in the past couple of years.  Wearing only his briefs, he carried his clothes into their closet.    
Moments later, he emerged in a pair of silk boxers and his dressing gown.  
  
She held up her hands.  “I know, I know.  It’s how you deal with things.  I get it.  I don’t have to like it,   
but I get it.  Just as I understand the times you take off for a few days.”  
  
Remington sat next her and began stripping off the brace so he could massage her leg.  “Do you?”  
  
Laura leaned on her elbow, closing her eyes in relief as he rubbed the soreness away.  “Most of the time.”  
  
“Sixty seconds of absolute honesty,” he insisted.  
  
She opened her eyes and then looked away in frustration.  “I know that you will always come back.    
Each time it’s a little harder to understand why you go in the first place.  But that’s not why I was upset   
this time.”  She stopped and yanked the band from her hair so that it fell out of the ponytail.  “This time,   
I wasn’t worried about your not wanting to come home; I was terrified something would happen that you   
couldn’t.”  A quick toss had the band landing on the nightstand beside her.  
  
Laying a hand on his bruised cheek and lightly stroking it, she kept talking.  “I should have told you why   
I went to see Mariah.  I didn’t want you to know … that I wasn’t dealing with all of it very well.  I felt   
myself becoming dependant on you the way I was with Kate in high school.  I didn’t want you out of my   
sight.  I still don’t.  I can’t sleep unless you’re holding me.  These last two nights, I kept thinking you--“    
Her breath caught and then she shook her head, unable to complete the sentence.  She held up her hand   
to ward him off when he would have taken her in his arms.  
  
When she had herself under control again, she added quietly, “Mariah knows all this.  She helped me   
after--”  
  
“Wilson left?” he finished for her.  He smoothed away another knot in her calf.     
  
She nodded.  “That, and a bad case I had years ago.  But this is worse.  Much worse.  She … wants you   
to come with me next time.”  
  
“Me?”  He paused for a moment in surprise.  
  
“Not to psychoanalyze you, although I’d love to be a fly on the wall if that ever happened,” she said with   
a trace of humor in her voice, “but to teach you a few things that can help me snap out of a flashback or   
a bad dream.”  
  
“I’ll do that.”  
  
“Just like that?”  
  
“Laura, whatever you need, I’ll do.”  
  
She laced her fingers in his and noted the bruising across his knuckles.  “You’re not dealing well with all   
of this either.”     
  
“I’m living with it, Laura.”  
  
Annoyed at his response, she threw his words back at him, “Sixty seconds of absolute honesty.”  
  
He scrubbed his face with both hands before resuming the massage.  “I’m afraid of hurting you further.    
I want to park your pretty little bum in bed and keep you there until you’re healed.  The fact that I   
couldn’t keep you safe is still getting to me.  And what you asked me about what I was going to let you   
do in the agency has me bloody well floored.  It’s your agency, Laura.  It always has been.”  
  
“I thought--“ she faltered, latching on to his last statement.  
  
“Thought what?”  
  
“That you’d be so protective of me that you’d want to set all kinds of limits on what I do.”  
  
“Of course, that’s what I want to do, love.  But give me a small amount of credit for knowing you as I   
do.  All setting limits would do is set a bar for you to wiggle around.  I can’t help stepping in front of you   
if someone is threatening you, but I’ve never stopped you from going through the door.”  
  
Laura tried to process the significance of that statement, but the last of her energy flagged as she tried to   
stifle a yawn behind her hand.  Remington glanced at the clock and saw that it was after two in the   
morning.  With hardly any sleep under his belt either, he eyed the wrinkled shirt of his that she was   
wearing, decided it looked sexy as hell and carefully scooted her over with nary a protest.  
  
A tug to the chain of the lamp left them in darkness, and hardly a minute later, both of them were lost to   
exhaustion.  Confronted by the barrier of shared love, the nightmares stayed away.

 

 

 


	7. Acceptance

A tiny finger reached for the long black lock of hair dipping over a smooth forehead.  A firm jerk had   
blue eyes popping open.  The culprit’s wide grin proved impossible to resist as was the identical one   
immediately to his right.  Remington untangled the fingers as Murphy attempted to retrieve his errant   
children without waking him or Laura.  
  
Of course, the toddlers let out maniacal shrieks as their father snatched one and missed the other as he   
scampered out of the way.  Rei saw that Laura somehow either slept through the ruckus or was   
pretending not to hear it.  He slipped out of bed to creep upon the other twin.  A fast snatch had him in   
his hands amid giggles and more shrieks.  He winced as the lad--Ian, he decided, from the sly squint in   
his brown eyes--found his chest hair and gave it a good, healthy yank.  He gave the child a dark scowl   
that resulted in more giggles as he retrieved his dressing gown and slipped out the door with it and the   
little boy.    
  
He stood the small boy on the sofa long enough to slip the robe over his shoulders and tie it before   
settling Ian on his hip and heading for the kitchen.  Either Laura or Kate had apparently set out a number   
of kid-friendly foods on the counter so that Murphy wouldn’t have to go hunting for them.  The boys’   
father dumped Cheerios into green plastic bowls that certainly hadn’t come from Remington’s kitchen   
and placed them in front of the wiggly creatures at the table.  Sippy cups of milk were handed over, and   
Murphy leaned against the counter in weariness.  
  
“Coffee, I beg of you,” he croaked.  
  
“Coming up.”  As Remington brought out coffee beans to grind, he asked, “Will the boys eat eggs?  I’ll   
make breakfast.”  
  
“Aiden will eat anything, including the carpet.  Ian won’t touch anything but Cheerios, peanut butter and   
apples.  It’s a wonder he manages to grow as fast as his brother.”  Murphy peeled a banana and broke it   
into small pieces for the boys.  Aiden stuffed two into his mouth at once while Ian smashed a chunk flat   
with his chubby hand.  
  
While the coffee dripped and the pan heated, Remington made his own tea and looked in on Laura.  She’  
d rolled over to where he’d been lying and snuggled with his pillow.  He stroked her hair once and kissed   
her temple, causing her to breathe a contented sigh in her sleep.  Arching a brow at the clock when he   
realized it wasn’t quite eight in the morning, he returned to the kitchen where Murphy was wiping down   
faces and hands.  The cheerful little boys promptly began chasing cars across the wood floors and   
making sputtering noises in the process.  
  
Remington stepped over Aiden and tossed vegetables into the pan to sauté in the heated oil.  A few   
minutes later, when Murphy sat down to his omelette, the boy immediately scrambled into his dad’s lap   
and opened his mouth.  Seeing the rate at which the child was consuming his father’s breakfast,   
Remington cracked another egg into the bowl and set another, larger omelette to fry.  Ian ignored them all  
in favor of exploring the kitchen cabinets.  
  
By the time Kate showered and wandered out of the bedroom ninety minutes later, awakened by the   
shrieks and giggles of her sons, the kitchen was a disaster area.  Pots and pans littered the floors, and   
breakfast was scattered across the kitchen counters and dining room table.  Cheerios dotted every surface   
imaginable along with the inevitable droplets of milk.  Murphy and Remington had each claimed a couch   
where the twins took turns climbing over them, playing horsey and launching random attacks with stuffed  
dinosaurs and miniature cars.  
  
Ear-piercing shrieks of “Mama” erupted, and four sturdy legs stamped across the floor to swarm her.  Ian   
immediately began whining for a snack, and Aiden smacked his brother with a toy car.  Automatically,   
Kate separated the boys--putting each of them in a two-minute time-out in opposite corners--before   
attacking the disaster area with a sponge.  
  
Remington pushed himself off the sofa, wandering over to stare mournfully at his kitchen.  Murphy   
winced as he took a good look at the damage.  “Sorry.  We warned you they were miniature tornados.”  
  
Cocking his head at his brother-in-law, he shrugged.  “It’s nothing that can’t be cleaned.”  He poured a   
cup of coffee for Kate and traded it for the sponge.  “I’ll do this.”  In short order, he restored the area to   
its normal pristine condition, handing the boys their mid-morning snack of graham crackers and grapes at   
the dining table after their mom sprang them from time-out.  
  
Murphy kissed Kate on the cheek and disappeared to shower.  She leaned on the island where she could   
keep an eye on her kids and sipped her coffee.  “Did you and Laura work things out last night?”  
  
Remington sighed inside but only gave her a pensive look as he washed out the sink.  He’d wondered   
how long it would take before she brought it up.  He and Murphy had avoided the conversation in favor   
of entertaining the twins, but Kate had a determined expression on her face he’d seen too many times on   
his own wife to not know what it meant.  “We talked.”  
  
“Just an observation and then I’ll shut up and keep my nose out of your business.”  He arched a brow at   
her and waited, listening idly to the babble of the boys to his back.  “If you two would quit trying to   
protect each other, you’d both be happier.  Neither of you has delicate sensibilities that need to be   
shielded.”  She tilted her cup up to drain it.  
  
He dried his hands on a dish towel before folding it into a neat square and hanging it over the oven   
handle.  “Is that it?”  
  
“That’s it.  Oh, and try dry toast with Laura’s tea.  When I was pregnant, it was the only thing that got   
me through the first few weeks.”  She gave him her version of the quirky half-smile Laura liked to shoot   
at him.  
  
Inexplicably, her calm understanding caused him to heave a shuddering sigh.  He rounded the island and   
caught her in a sisterly squeeze as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.  “Thank you,” he whispered.  
  
Then he nearly tripped as the boys double-teamed him, and each grabbed onto a leg from behind.    
Recovering his sensibilities, he flashed Kate the wide grin that charmed Laura from the first day they'd   
met in Los Angeles.  “So tell me, exactly when did you discover you were having twins?”  He dropped   
down so the boys could climb up, and he stood with one on each hip.  They squirmed mightily amid   
giggles and squeals while he held firm.  
  
Kate started to answer, but Laura appeared in the bedroom doorway, capturing his attention entirely.    
Color in her face had replaced the awful pallor of the night before.  Her hair was damp from her shower,   
and she wore a pair of white capris and a sleeveless black sweater.  She laughed at Remington’s attempt   
to keep a solid grip on Aiden and Ian.  He gave up when they spied their aunt and flopped limply over his   
arms, becoming instant deadweights that nearly bowled him over.  Ian wiggled away first and headed for   
Laura.  Aiden waited for his uncle to put him on the ground before chasing down his brother.  Laura   
caught both of them in an enormous hug that turned into a brief tickling match.  
  
Remington smiled at the sight of his wife playing with the boys and took advantage of their distraction to   
make her tea and toast.  Kate showed mercy to her sister after a few moments and brought out a small   
bag of toys.  The twins lost interest in their aunt as they scattered the brightly-colored balls and blocks   
across the living room floor.  
  
Laura wrinkled her nose at the dry toast that her husband presented to her.  “I’m starving and you’re   
giving me bread?”  
  
“Keep it down, love, while I shower, and I’ll make you a real breakfast.  Deal?”  He peered into her clear   
maple eyes, relief unknotting the tension in his shoulders as he saw that the stress lines had eased from   
her face.  Something else was in her expression.  At the moment he was at a loss to define it, only noting   
the slight curve to her lips and the fact that she had walked across the room without a limp for the first   
time.  
  
“Deal.”  She flashed a beautiful, sultry smile that lit sparks throughout him.  Remington forgot all about   
Kate and the twins as he lowered his head to hers.  When he hesitated, his mouth hovering a breath   
above her lips, she pressed up on her toes and reeled him in.  In her ineffable combination of citrus and   
sunshine, he lost himself as her warmth washed through him, chasing away the darkness with ease.  
  
This was what he’d been missing since that Sunday in Ireland.  It was a simple fact that from the first   
day they'd met, her eyes warmed and her touch healed him.  These past four weeks, he’d felt his soul   
growing colder and more frightened each day as he’d been unable to give her whatever she needed that   
would bring back the light.  Locked to her, he savored--taking what he needed and giving it back again.  
  
Kate fanned herself with raised brows.  “Good Heavens!  You have a bedroom.  Use it.”  
  
Laura blushed scarlet as Remington broke their kiss and held her to him.  She looked up through her   
lashes and saw the cocky Irishman with his scruffy beard and mussed hair that she’d missed so.  
  
He winked at Kate before diving his hands through his wife’s hair and landing a kiss on her lips one last   
time.  “Toast, love.  Eat your toast,” he ordered before disappearing into the bedroom.  
  
Whistling in appreciation, Kate leaned on the island and fanned herself comically.  “Damn, Lunatic,   
Murphy’s not going to know what hit him later.  And I’m sure not going to tell him!”  
  
Two slices of very dry toast later, along with the tea to wash it down, the bare edges of Laura’s hunger   
had been assuaged, and she was grateful that the nausea was in abeyance for the moment.  While she   
ate, Kate filled her in on the plans for the evening.  
  
“We’re going to see Frances and Donald after the boys take a nap, and we’re staying for dinner,   
remember?  We’ll be back around eight to put the boys to bed.  I promise that we’ll keep our lips sealed   
so you can tell everyone the good news tomorrow when Mom is here.”  
  
“Act surprised or we’ll both be in the doghouse.”  Laura snorted as she watched the toddlers aim in their   
direction.  
  
“Of course.  And Laura,” Kate picked up Aiden as he pulled on her leg for attention, “you and   
Remington need to talk.  Don’t wait.”    
  
Her sister nodded and lifted Ian when he demanded equal treatment.  Laura cradled her nephew for the   
brief moment he allowed before he slipped out of her arms and ran back to his toys.  She wandered after   
him, taking the small objects he offered and trading them out as he brought her new ones.  
  
  
  
An hour or so after the four adults finished lunch, the boys woke from their naps and their parents   
bundled them into Laura’s car for the short trip to Tarzana.  Laura and Remington returned to find their   
flat oddly quiet without the twins’ giggles, babbles and shrieks.  Awkward silence dominated for a   
moment as each of them tried to think of a way to reopen the conversation from the night before.  
  
“Do you want--“ he started.  
  
“Can we--“ she said at the same time.  
  
“You first,” Remington offered with an elegant gesture.  
  
Thinking of Dr. Angelo’s homework, Laura replied, “Can we go somewhere else to talk?  Not here   
again.  I don’t want to bring it home.”  
  
With a shrug, Rei slipped Laura’s jacket over her shoulders and carried his own.  Then he stopped and   
snorted.  “Murphy took the Lexus and the Auburn’s at the office.  He wouldn’t let me drive last night.    
Can you walk to the pub?  We can sit outside so the smoke won’t--“ his voice trailed off, and he looked   
away in chagrin.  
  
She reached out, gathering his hand in hers.  “--bother the baby?  I think that’s a great idea.  And yes, I   
can walk to the pub as long as I’m wearing that infernal brace.”  
  
“Then I’ll call and have Fred pick us up there at two-thirty for your physical therapy.”  
  
Hand-in-hand, the couple walked the one block to the neighborhood bar situated just north of their   
apartment on Rossmore.  There they found a table facing the busy street where the ambient noise and   
position on the edge of the patio gave them a relative amount of privacy.  Over the past two years, the   
Steeles had come here any number of times to dance, enjoy the generally questionable music from the   
local bands that played there or simply unwind after work.  Other times they used the bar as neutral   
territory to work out their differences.  
  
As regulars, they were greeted by a nod from the bartender who did his best to stifle his surprise when   
the Steeles ordered club sodas instead of their usual bottle of wine and then picked a table on the patio   
rather than the one they preferred in the dark corner of the bar.  
  
Remington toyed with his glass.  He wasn’t very good at these conversations.  It was much easier to get   
angry, make a joke or pretend not to care--but Laura wasn’t going to let him off this time.  Knowing he   
had to drop all pretentions to deal honestly with the emotions and fears swirling around had his gut in   
knots.  
  
Only Laura noted the subtle signs of his unease--the slight formal bow as he seated her and the crisp   
British tones when he ordered the drinks.  She’d learned to detect a great deal from his voice in two   
years of living with him.  On a regular day at home and in the office, his English accent was peppered   
with an ever-increasing number of American idioms.  Whenever he was especially relaxed or annoyed   
with her in particular, the music of Ireland laced through his voice and phrasings.  But when he was   
uncomfortable or upset with himself, he resorted to the clipped language and exquisite manners Daniel   
had drummed into him as a teenager.  
  
She began by telling a story new to Remington.  “In my first year at Havenhurst, I was part of a team   
that tracked down a runaway girl.  Her father had died of a brain tumor a few months before, and her   
mother had become too depressed to see that her daughter needed help.  The mother came to us, hoping   
we could work faster than the police department.  The girl was only fourteen.  Since I looked so young, it   
was my job to go where she had gone.  We found her … and took her home.  I’m sure you can imagine   
what happens to girls like that in big cities.  Believe me, I was very happy to have a big guy like Murphy   
backing me up.  Ironically, her mother was a psychologist.  Thank God she got herself and her daughter   
the help they both needed.”  
  
Laura picked at her thumbnail.  “For some reason, I stayed in touch with the mother.  We weren’t   
exactly friends, but we would meet for lunch from time to time.  I guess I needed to know the girl would   
be all right and what we did was worth it.  And it was.  She went on to college and became an   
accountant.  She’s engaged to be married in the fall.  She’s happy and whole.”  
  
“We had a lunch date a week after Wilson left and … and I fell apart right there in the restaurant.    
Murphy was a fantastic shoulder to cry on, but Dr. Mariah Angelo put me back together.  She made me   
think everything through with logic and clarity.  She’d battled depression and knew how to help me work   
through it.  It took months before I shook it completely, but in the end I felt strong.  I was strong, but I   
kept everyone locked out for fear of being hurt again.  Mariah had been working with me on that when   
you joined the agency.  I … didn’t want you to find out and that’s when I stopped seeing her.”  
  
He frowned at her.  “Why?”  
  
“Because I was trying so hard to keep the upper hand with you.  I could see that we were spending more   
and more time together, and all it would take was one slip for you to know I was seeing a therapist.  I   
was afraid that you … would either lose respect for me or that you would crack my defenses wide open.    
It’s always been hard for me to block you out, Remington, and if you knew … you would have stayed   
after me until you knew exactly why I was seeing her.  I wasn’t ready for that.”  
  
He nodded, acknowledging that she was probably right.  Laura continued to explain, “The last time I met   
with her, I ranted about this smug, gorgeous man in the office who thought he could have whatever he   
wanted.  I think you had been in the agency two or three months by then, and it was clear you weren’t   
going away anytime soon.  You know what she asked me?”  He raised a brow.  “One question: she   
asked if I liked you.’”  Laura rolled her eyes upward and shook her head.  “And heaven help me, I said   
‘yes.’  I remember that Dr. Angelo just smiled and nodded.  It certainly didn’t surprise her on Monday to   
find out we had married.”  
  
Laura’s mood suddenly darkened, and she huddled in her chair, rubbing her arms.  “When … when we   
landed at the airport and Fred was parked out front, all I could see was the limo exploding, and I   
remembered that awful pain of thinking you were in it.  Oh damn--”  She pressed one hand to her chest   
and dashed away the tears that threatened to fall with the other.  Rei reached for her hand, but she   
stopped him.  “I need to finish first.  Everything I told you last night is true.  The nightmares are awful,   
and certain things put me right back in O’Callaghan’s cell.  I don’t want to cling to you the way I did   
Kate in high school when I finally realized our father wasn’t coming home, and Murphy just after Wilson   
left.  I never want to do that to another person.  I swore I wouldn’t.  I … I thought Mariah could help me   
through this without dragging you into it.”  
  
Remington, in front of all the world passing by, snatched her out of her chair and into his lap where he   
could give her the comfort she’d needed that terrible day.  “Oh, love.”  He held her long and hard.  Then   
he eased back where he could look at her face.  “I’m not sixteen and I’m not just a friend.  Damn it,   
Laura, I’m your partner--your husband.  I can handle whatever hand I’m dealt--even if you’re the one   
putting down the cards.  Bloody hell, all this time I thought you blamed me.”  
  
She shook her head.  “I don’t.  I truly don’t, Rei.  I’ve told you that before and I’ll tell you again.  None   
of this was your fault.”  
  
He pulled her to him again, needing her body against his.  “Your belief in me is astounding, Laura.”    
Relief rushed through him even as he privately hoped like hell that she never laid eyes on the tapes of   
that night … because she might change her mind.  Buchanan had promised that he’d buried them under   
several layers of security and wouldn’t pull them out unless they were absolutely necessary to prosecute   
the bully boys that had attacked Laura.  Since they both had rap sheets several pages long, the Interpol   
agent saw no reason to make the tapes public.  
  
Laura pushed off him suddenly and stood, looking somewhat embarrassed as she made her excuses to go   
to the ladies room.  “Nausea again?” he wondered and then grinned as she shook her head and quick-  
stepped into the pub.  The books he’d read had warned about the danger of standing between a pregnant   
woman and the bathroom--even one that was newly expecting.  
  
When she returned, he could see she was self-conscious.  She could be so bloody prim and proper   
sometimes, and he loved poking fun at her.  As she sat and smoothed her sweater, Remington cracked   
her uptight demeanor with a smirk and arch of his brow.  She rolled her eyes and bit her lip to hide a   
smile.    
  
Now it was his turn to lift her hand and hold it in his while he traced distracting patterns along the lines in  
her palm.  “Laura, can we talk about you and the agency?”  
  
She looked away for a moment, and then her eyes came back to him.  “Do you mean what you said last   
night?  About not trying to put limits on me?”  
  
Remington slanted a wry grin her way.  “Has it worked yet?”  They both knew that over the years he’d   
subtly tried to check her involvement in some of the more dangerous cases--usually when she was acting   
as bait--to no avail.  
  
She inhaled deeply and cocked her head.  “No, but I do listen--especially when you make sensible   
suggestions.”  Taking interest in her fingernails again on the hand he wasn’t holding, she added, “I   
thought that since you have a vested interest now, you would be more insistent.”  
  
“Laura, I’ve always had a vested interest in your well-being.  We both know you’re quite capable as a   
detective, and I’m not questioning your abilities now.  We know how to compensate at the agency when   
one of us is physically incapable of chasing down a suspect.”  With gentle persuasion he reminded her   
that both of them had been injured in the past.  “The difference is that now we have others who can pick   
up the slack.”  
  
“But this is permanent, Rei.  I … oh, damn it.  I’m jealous, okay?  I know that I’m going to be the one   
stuck in the office while you go out on cases.  It’s sensible and logical and … and--“ she sputtered, trying   
to find the right words.  
  
“Boring?” he offered.  
  
“Yes, it’s boring!  I wanted to be a detective because I like excitement and solving mysteries, not because   
I like sitting in an office all day.  Unlike you, Mr. Steele, I like legwork.”  Her lips pursed into the   
slightest pout that he found charming because of its rarity.  
  
“I wasn’t aware that pregnancy precluded legwork, Laura.”  He leaned toward her and cupped her   
cheek.  “No more jousting at windmills, love.  You do what you do best.  When you find something you   
can’t or don’t want to do, there will be others to do it in your place.  Perhaps, not as well as you, but   
well enough that the agency won’t go under.”  
  
She nodded in response and wondered if he was being entirely honest with her.  She hoped he was.  At   
the edge of her vision, she saw Fred arrive with the limousine and park in front of the pub.  
  
This time, Remington was watching as Laura suddenly lost focus and her expression blanked.  Her hand   
went limp in his as her eyes reflected shock, despair and fear in rapid succession.  Out of instinct, he   
gripped her hand and leaned over to touch his lips to hers, bringing the other hand up again to cup her   
head and hold her to him.  Her lashes drifted down, and when she lifted them, he could see the   
recognition in her eyes.  
  
Rei kept his voice calm as he asked, “Does that happen every time?”  
  
She took a shaky breath.  “No.  If I anticipate seeing the car, I can control it.”  
  
“Is that what this is about?  Controlling your reactions?”  
  
Laura answered with more confidence.  “Some.  Mostly, it’s about consciously replacing negative   
thoughts with good ones.  The more I can think good things or at least neutral thoughts, over time, those   
will become the automatic reactions rather than the ones I’m having now.”  She sounded as if she was   
reciting something she’d read in a book.  
  
“Does it work?”  
  
Laura blew out her breath.  “Yes, if I make the effort.”  
  
He stood, drawing her up with him and to him for a hug before they walked to the car.  “Somehow, love,   
I doubt that will be an issue.”  And now at last, he understood where her iron-willed control came from.    
Intelligence, determination and ability were forged together in the fires of heartbreak, first as a teen and   
later as an adult, to make Laura Steele as strong as the name she created.  He had no doubts she would   
overcome this latest trial.  
  
As they rode in the car in comfortable silence, Laura rested her head on his shoulder.  
  
  
  
During Laura’s forty-five minute rehabilitation session, Remington stayed close where he could see what   
the physical therapist, a young man by the name of Glenn Hathaway, was doing.  For most of it, Laura   
ran through a series of exercises while the therapist watched carefully.  After she’d warmed up her legs   
by riding a stationary bike for a few minutes, Glenn massaged the muscles and ligaments around her   
knee.  When he saw Steele watching, he waved the other man over.  
  
He grinned and said, “You’re the one Mrs. Steele says has ‘magic hands.’  I think she prefers yours to   
mine anyway.”  
  
Remington cocked his head in a friendly manner.  “Perhaps.  But you’ll be the one to get her back on   
two feet.”  
  
“Nah.  Mrs. Steele will do all the work.  I’m just making sure the muscles don’t get too tight before she   
starts the heavy-duty exercises.  They need to be loose, and the ligaments need to be in the right place if   
they are going to strengthen correctly.”  That started a discussion between the two men about massage   
techniques, and Laura was recipient of both the rather painful, deeper version that manipulated the   
muscles and ligaments and the lighter one that soothed the discomfort.  
  
Remington wasn’t comfortable using massage for physical therapy, but Glenn showed him a couple of   
things that would help whenever her knee was especially sore as it had been this week as she resumed   
walking without the crutches.  
  
“Another week, Mrs. Steele, then we’ll switch to a Neoprene wrap for your knee.”  
  
“How long will I have to wear that?”  
  
“Can’t tell you.  For sure for the rest of your pregnancy.  Maybe off and on for the rest of your life.     
We’ll know more in a month.”  
  
Laura drooped.  “I want to start running again.”  
  
“Stick with the bike, Mrs. Steele.  It’s the best thing right now because you can only use your knee joint   
one way with it, and you are much less likely to reinjure it.”  She nodded and moved away to do the   
exercises he had taught her.  
  
“Can she ride it at home?” Remington asked quietly.  
  
“Of course.  Do you have one?”  Glenn cocked his head, thinking he remembered Mrs. Steele saying she   
didn’t.  
  
“She will.”  
  
  
  
When the session was finished, Remington made a reference to having Fred pull the car around, and   
Laura threw him a grateful look for the reminder.  They had just enough time to stop by the agency to   
retrieve the Auburn so that Fred could enjoy the rest of his weekend before zipping a few streets over to   
Dr. Angelo’s office.  
  
Mariah met them at the door with a wide smile.  “I see you enticed him here, my friend.”  Privately, she   
had to pick her jaw up off the floor as the stunning Irishman escorted his lady-fair into her office.  Laura   
had mentioned that her husband looked rather like a fallen angel with his gorgeous looks and icy blue   
eyes.  
  
“She only had to ask,” he replied with his own answering smile.  Laura bit her lip, feeling a little like a   
young girl introducing her new beau to a favored aunt.  
  
Dr. Angelo tilted her head, taking in their expressions and body language.  “You’ve talked.”  The pair   
nodded and took the seat she indicated on the sofa.  “Tell me.”  
  
* * * * *  
  
Later that night, long after the exhausted Michaels family had put their tired boys to bed and the four   
adults had enjoyed a relaxing evening by the fire, Laura stood in the closet and rummaged around for a   
nightshirt.  From behind her, Remington murmured, “Don’t bother.”  He drew her hair to the side and   
feathered kisses across the back of her neck.  
  
“Hmm?  Why not?” she teased as she leaned into his touch.  
  
“Therapy, remember?  My job is to make sure you are utterly relaxed and have only positive images   
before you go to sleep.”  
  
“And how do you plan to do that?”  She turned and made the unsurprising discovery that he wasn’t   
wearing a stitch of clothing.  Need fired through her in a heartbeat.  
  
“Laura,” his fingertips skimmed down her arms, “do you need to ask?”

Later, as he caressed Laura’s damp hair while she sprawled across his body, spent from their lovemaking, Remington   
murmured in her ear, “Marlene or Eva Marie … or perhaps Joseph … although I rather like Paul or   
Richard, but I’m biased.”  
  
While she was mustering up a retort, she fell asleep dreaming of baby names.

 

 


	8. Changes

Five weeks later:

  
  
 _Johnny rubbed his forehead, shaking his head at the latest report.  Interpol was closing in.  He knew it_  
was only a matter of days before he was arrested.  Damn O’Callaghan.  If it hadn’t been for him, none   
of this would be happening.  His options were dwindling rapidly.  Grey-blue eyes pinned his   
assistant.  “Riley, book a flight for me.  
  
“Where to, sir.”  
  
“Los Angeles.”  
  
  
  
Over the past few weeks, Remington delighted in realizing that Laura took far more caution than he   
might have insisted on if he’d tried to set limits on her.  She became extraordinarily inventive in figuring   
out surveillance techniques that circumvented the need for undercover and stealth work.  Embracing   
technology with a vengeance, she spent many afternoons with him figuring out how they could use the   
ever-evolving “toys” that came on the market every few months.  
  
For someone who wasn’t sure how much she had liked changing her name from “Holt” to “Steele,” the   
fact was that she now garnered nearly as much attention as he did in public, and only a few hardheaded   
men ever questioned her right to be in the agency.  It hadn’t gone unnoticed by the media in the past two   
years that Remington Steele never introduced her as “my wife, Laura” but as “my partner, Laura Steele”   
in reference to a case.  He did the same in the office, forcing others to recognize her skills whether they   
liked it or not.  Except for the security clients which were handed directly to Remington, every client met   
with her first, and she directed the progress of each case they took on.  None of that had changed with   
the onset of pregnancy, and since she was now free of the leg brace, she was back to doing legwork on   
her own cases.  
  
Nighttime work was out of the question, but she could serve as a lookout, staying in contact with   
Remington and Kaleb via the new wires from the safety of the car or a nearby perch.  Sandra didn’t like   
this kind of operation, preferring the straight forward approach in the middle of the day or surveillance   
work.  Instead, she handled a great deal of the “bread and butter” work of the agency: obtaining evidence   
for lawyers in divorce trials, usually involving photographs or paper trails proving adultery or finding   
hidden assets.  She and Mildred worked hand-in-hand on the latter.  
  
Mildred discovered in the past two years that, as a Certified Public Accountant--leftover from her IRS   
fraud squad days--as well as a private investigator, she was now considered an expert witness and was   
often called upon by various attorneys to provide testimony regarding documents either she had   
uncovered or they had provided.  As such, she was less available for undercover work as the demands on   
her time increased.  She loved every second of it, feeling as if she was finally garnering the recognition   
she deserved.  
  
If Mildred was the brains in this part of the operation, Ian was her hands and Sandra her feet.  The trio   
was beginning to gel as a team much as Mildred, Remington and Laura had in the beginning.  
  
Kaleb, however, was proving to be a quick learner and a fast thinker along the lines of Mr. and Mrs.   
Steele.  He had begun subbing for Laura whenever nighttime escapades were required.  In the process,   
Laura discovered two more things about her partnership with Remington.  First, having his voice in her   
ear, via the wires, kept their partnership intact while he worked--either alone or with Carter in tow.  He   
liked knowing there was another set of eyes on the outside, and she liked being able to keep track of   
him.  She’d sat at home biting her thumbnails exactly once before insisting they work out an alternative.    
Second, she proved to be capable of thinking through the clues left on the scene nearly as well as if she   
had been there.  Remington already knew how to give her succinct, accurate descriptions, and Carter was   
coming along rapidly.  Listening to Mr. Steele describe a setting to Mrs. Steele fine-tuned his ability to see   
pertinent details and link them together.  And just as she had directed her partner to look for the Pitkin   
paintings hidden in the bathroom, she often had the pair hunt for clues in unexpected places.  
  
Carter learned a great deal just by listening to the banter between Mr. and Mrs. Steele, but out of   
desperation in trying to understand their verbal shorthand, he’d begun renting the old movies they often   
referenced.  
  
Between cases, Mr. Steele was training Carter in the security business.  After nearly two years, he was   
handing over the plans and letting Kaleb sweat out the details of the setup.  So far the young man had an   
excellent handle on the basics, but inevitably, Remington could point out fine weaknesses.  Sealing those   
up was the extra element that gave the agency the top notch reputation it deserved.  Only working   
retrievals and experience would give Carter the insight he would need to find those cracks.  Remington   
still trusted no one else to make certain the final setup was complete on a security job.  
  
At the same time, James Buchanan contacted Steele about sending the first of the Interpol trainees to the   
agency.  Remington passed him over to Laura to work out the details.  Having been formally trained, she   
had a good idea of what skills the students should possess and what could be taught to them at the   
agency.    
  
“What exactly will we be teaching, Laura?” he wondered late on a Tuesday afternoon after her third or   
fourth conversation with Buchanan.  
  
She leaned back and propped her feet on her desk.  At ten weeks, her belly was rounding slightly, and   
the monumental sleepiness was beginning to recede.  They’d finally shared the news with Ian, Kaleb and   
Sandra only that morning.  Both men were chagrined when Sandra held out her hand, and they each had   
to slap a twenty into it.  The boys lost another five apiece to her when Mildred admitted to being in on   
the news for several weeks already.    
  
Laura picked up her notepad and pencil.  “We’ll be teaching a way of thinking.  We seem to have an   
innate sense of looking deeper into a situation than most.  You have a knack for personalities and   
motives; I’m good at seeing connections and relationships.”  
  
He leaned against her desk and crossed his arms.  “So how do we teach someone how to think?”  
  
“Exactly what we’ve done with Sandra and Kaleb.  We coach; we review.  We let them shadow us.    
Buchanan’s giving us agents who have already had their training but haven’t been in the field yet.  He   
wants them to gain a little seasoning here while they learn what we--and more specifically, you--do.  We   
solve complex cases because we process information better than most.”  She tapped her pencil on her   
notepad.  “I’ve been thinking about you and what makes you so different.”  
  
“And?” he prompted when she paused.  
  
“And some of it can’t be taught.  Nothing will replace the years of training Daniel gave you at such a   
young age.  Not to mention that some of your abilities were developed as a defense mechanism as a   
child; much of what you do is actually a part of your personality.  But I think we can get our trainees to   
develop an expanded awareness of the actual possibilities of a given situation and learn to think a little   
faster on their feet.  You’ll also be able to coach them through various personas.  I imagine you’d catch a   
false Frenchman faster than a real one would.”  
  
“So if what I do is innate ability and Daniel’s training, where does yours come from?”  
  
“I’m a math freak, remember?  Analysis and logic is in my blood.  I can’t turn that off any more than   
you can stop sizing up people the moment you meet them.  But that same analytical ability lets me break   
down what you and I do into comprehensible increments, and I can teach that to someone else.    
Basically, it’s what we’ve been doing with Sandra and Kaleb.  They watch us as a team.  Later, I break it   
down for them.  We’ve had a couple of years with Kaleb to work on this technique, and you can see   
how well he’s doing as a detective.”  
  
“True.  Carter’s good.  With your whispering in his ear, he’s better.”  
  
Laura grinned and then propped her cheek on her knuckles.  “What I haven’t figured out is how we can   
get enough cases along the lines of what Interpol does to manufacture enough situations to provide   
adequate training.  We’ll only have each recruit for three to five months before Buchanan wants him or   
her back.”  
  
Remington scratched his chin.  “I can do that.”  
  
“Do what?”  
  
“Manufacture enough situations.  They’ve been taught the basics of undercover work, right?  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“So let me massage my contacts at the museums, and I’ll take them on a few retrievals.”  
  
Laura raised her eyebrows.  Remington’s abilities had come in handy on a new sideline of business he’d   
developed since they’d married.  Several of his contacts from his previous life wanted him to return   
stolen items to the proper authorities--partially to clean up their storerooms along with their acts--and   
partially to claim the money associated with returning certain kinds of artwork and gems to those   
authorities.  Finder’s fees could often be lucrative, and, as long as no one could prove that Remington   
knew where to locate the items in question when he “ran across them,” he was getting away with it.    
Since most of his contacts were in Europe, Remington and Laura usually made excuses to travel there   
several times a year.  The press had made much of several of those recoveries.  Unsurprisingly, they   
were now receiving quite a bit of legitimate recovery work from the various museums and collectors in   
both Europe and the West Coast.  
  
However, the rule Laura had laid down was she didn’t want to know which retrievals were legitimate and   
which one were courtesy of old associates of Remington’s--and if she ever figured it out, he had to   
promise to stop.  Her husband had become extraordinarily adept at encouraging museum directors and   
the like to hire Remington Steele Investigations to find particular items.  Sometimes he let months pass   
before “locating” the item in question.  Laura went over every single one of these finds with a fine-  
toothed comb and had yet to catch Remington.  It kept them both on their toes and they relished the   
challenge.  
  
“Legit or not legit?”  She was beginning to see where he was going with this.  
  
“Ah, that’s for me to know and you to never find out,” he said slyly, reminding her of their long-standing   
agreement.  “They’ll have a chance to practice undercover work, nightwork and the rest in a somewhat   
less dangerous setting than tracking down a drug dealer.  Plus they’ll be doing it with minimal technology,   
so they’ll have to use their brains.  Then, whenever you do get a nice, juicy case that tests all of us, I can   
bring the trainees to you.  No matter where I am in a recovery, I can usually get clear within ten to   
twelve hours at the outside.”  
  
Laura nodded.  “That could work.  What will you do about backup though?”  
  
He scratched his cheek, thinking it through.  If the “recovery” was for an old friend wanting to return the   
stolen goods for the finder’s fee, the risks would be negligible and backup unnecessary.  The Interpol   
agent would be getting good practice without knowing it was a game.  In fact, Remington could set up the  
“case” anyway he wanted to test the new agents.  If the recovery was legitimate, then he would operate   
under the normal routines Laura set up long ago.  In which case, with an untested partner along, a   
backup with more experience watching out for the team only made sense.  
  
“I’ll take Kaleb when it doesn’t make sense for you to go along.”  
  
Laura nodded.  Carter was getting better each day.  In a few years, she’d be struggling to keep him from   
setting up his own agency.  He was that good.  “What are the chances you’ll be in Europe?”  
  
“If I go there, it will have to be in the next couple of months.  After that, I’ll work my contacts here.  In   
case you hadn’t noticed, we’re gaining a fair reputation in the recovery business locally.  And I’d rather   
not be away too much anyway.”  He said the last as his eyes caressed her belly.  
  
“Can’t imagine why,” she retorted.  She thought she had a bead on what he had in mind: first taking the   
trainees on a fake “recovery” so he could get an idea of their skills, then taking them on a legitimate one.    
As long as she didn’t ask and couldn’t prove it, it actually made a great deal of sense.  Plus Kaleb would   
get a whole different kind of training than he would get here.  She was certain Interpol didn’t need to   
know that Remington Steele had made Kaleb Carter his protégé.  If Buchanan caught wind of the young   
man’s abilities, Interpol would snatch him up, and the Steeles would lose a bright addition to the agency.  
  
“So how many of these trainees are we going to get?”  
  
“One or two each time.  We’re thinking teams of two to get partners used to working together, but that   
would mean two extra bodies tagging along everywhere we go.  It’s hard to be a detective with an   
entourage.”  
  
“I’d rather have only one.”  
  
“Then that’s what we’ll do.”  Laura nixed the idea of two without a second thought.  
  
“Laura, what exactly are we getting out of this?” Remington wanted to know.  
  
She cocked her head and stretched with distinct nonchalance.  “A very nice fee and an extra intern that   
we don’t have to pay.  If we choose to split bonuses or finder’s fees with the intern as we do our own   
staff, it’s up to us.  We can probably learn quite a bit about self-defense from them and get a leg up on   
whatever technology is coming out on the market.”  Sitting up straight, she added, “There is something   
else though.”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“It’s possible that Interpol wants someone in here to keep an eye on you.”  
  
He tapped his nose.  “That thought had occurred to me as well.”  
  
“That’s why I’m asking for immunity for any and all aspects of our work with the interns.  I’m thinking   
we might do this for a year to make Interpol happy, and then we’ll decide if it’s really worth doing.”  
  
Remington nodded his agreement.  “Will we have one of these blokes with us all the time?”  He didn’t   
relish having to constantly watch over his shoulder for a neophyte.  He’d become rather used to Laura’s   
abilities and the fact they could anticipate each other’s moves and thoughts.  
  
“No.  You might have a ‘lass’ instead.”  She arched a brow.  “We can try it for a while.  I think we could   
do this a couple of times a year and take time off in between.  I don’t want to lose focus on what we do   
here, but it would be a nice sideline and probably fun for you since you have an excuse to pull out those   
rusty skills Daniel taught you.”  
  
“Rusty?  I think not.”  He crossed his arms.  “Fun?  Dragging a complete amateur along to solve a case?”  
  
“It’s no different from when you started.”  She stifled her smile.  
  
A single brow lifted.  “I was eminently capable.  A touch of your expert instruction was all I needed.    
There is no comparison.”  
  
“Think of it as a challenge, Mr. Steele.”  
  
“A challenge?”  He closed in on her, hovering where he could drop a kiss on her lips.  “Exactly what are   
you going to do to make this worth my while?”  
  
“I’m bearing your child.  Isn’t that enough?” she said with a perfectly straight face.  
  
He froze, speechless for a moment; then a broad grin crossed his face.  “That’s not playing fair, Mrs.   
Steele.”  He captured her mouth and plundered for a moment.  
  
“When have you ever played fair?” she shot back in breathy tones.  
  
He stood and touched the side of his nose.  “Touché.  So when does the first one arrive?”  
  
“I’ll know more in the next few days.  But probably by the end of the month.”  
  
“Then we’d better be ready.”

 

 

 


	9. Interlude

_Roselli opened the file again.  He’d studied it, mulled it over, read it again and cursed Steele nine_  
_ways to hell.  He fingered the video tape before shoving it away again._  
  
_Buchanan had made it clear that he was one of only four people allowed to see all of the evidence_  
 _associated with the Steeles’ kidnapping and only because Roselli was following the known leads into_  
 _the U.S.  Tony understood all too well that if the Interpol agent knew he’d had personal contact with_  
 _the pair in the past, he would have been yanked off the case.  When he’d seen the names in the dossier_  
 _during the briefing, he’d kept his mouth firmly shut._  
  
_Tony rubbed his eyes and slapped his hand on the desk.  Why did it have to be Laura?  He read again_  
 _and again the list of abuses heaped upon her and knew he should have stood firm and gotten her away_  
 _from Steele two years ago.  The pictures hadn’t helped the reaction._  
  
_Not only that, reading the extensive dossier of Steele’s past misdeeds that Interpol included in the file,_  
 _along with the immunity agreement Laura had negotiated for the thief, only made him furious.  He was_  
 _sure the prick was just using her again.  He wondered what exactly would happen to her when Steele_  
 _didn’t need her anymore._  
  
_It had taken him a while to get over the crush he’d had on her, but he’d known from the start that a_  
 _relationship was impossible given his line of business.  He’d needed to get to Steele; she was just_  
 _another tool in his arsenal--albeit one he preferred not to give away.  She had made it crystal clear_  
 _that she was choosing the jerk over him, and he hadn’t heard from her since._  
  
_His phone rang.  The woman on the other end was a top notch data miner for MI6.  “Johnny Carlisle_  
 _is on his way to Los Angeles.”_  
  
_Roselli’s face hardened.  “Do we know why?”_  
  
_“No, sir.  Carlisle has no known connections to anyone there.”_  
  
_Swallowing the string of curses on his tongue, he said curtly, “Call Buchanan and book me a flight.”_  
 _He knew from the briefing that Carlisle’s last known contact with anyone from the LA area was with_  
 _none other than Laura Steele._


	10. Turning Point

The following Friday was a rather momentous day.  
  
Mid-morning, Remington and Laura had their second appointment with the obstetrician.  Like most   
expectant parents, they were nervous and excited at the same time.  After the preliminary questions about   
symptoms she was experiencing were answered and any particular problems addressed--of which there   
were thankfully none--the doctor had Laura lie back on the table for a quick sonogram.  Since twins were   
rampant in Laura’s family, Dr. Berger had determined a picture would be better than simply listening for   
a heartbeat.  
  
Idly, Remington stroked Laura’s hair as the cold gel was applied to her belly.  She wrinkled her nose and   
shivered at the sensation.  She forgot all about temperature, though, when a grainy picture of a small   
peanut-shaped dot floated around on the screen.  Rei’s hand froze.  
  
“Just one, Mr. and Mrs. Steele,” announced the obstetrician.  “And so far we’re looking great.”  
  
“Thank God,” murmured Remington, entranced by the image on the monitor.  Laura would have   
protested his response if she wasn’t relieved too.  One was enough for now.  
  
Dr. Berger pressed a button several times and handed her several sonogram photos for keepsakes before   
turning off the machine.  The doctor wiped down her torso with a well-washed, clean towel and then laid   
a Doppler instrument below her belly button.  She explained that they might be able hear the heartbeat   
this early if they got lucky.  
  
And sure enough, a rapid, high pitched thumping began to come through the little speaker.  
  
Laura looked up at Remington as he stared--transfixed by the little instrument from which the sound was   
emanating.  More than the picture, the sound of that tiny heart beating had him fumbling for his   
handkerchief with one hand while the other held Laura’s in a crushing grip.  She knew he’d been   
fascinated by the changes in her body over the past several weeks, but apparently the reality of what they   
were about hadn’t set in until this moment.  The doctor smiled at his reaction, and Laura stroked her   
husband’s arm as she listened to the mesmerizing sound with him.  
  
When the exam was finished and Dr. Berger had retreated, Remington sat hard on the lone chair.  He   
scrubbed at his face while Laura straightened her clothing and slid off the table.  “Rei?”  She interrupted   
his daze.  
  
“Oh, are you done, love?”  He automatically stood and reached for the doorknob to open it for her.  But   
she threaded her arms through his and held him still until he had his composure again.  He started to   
speak, but she laid a finger across his lips before pulling his head to hers.  Laura’s hands came up to   
tangle in the hair on either side of Remington’s head as she held him in place and savored his mouth.    
She could taste where the tears had streaked and dried as his arms came up and held on to her.  
  
When she ended the kiss, he shifted to hold her so that her head cradled against his shoulder.  “Good   
Lord, Laura, I know this is terribly obvious at this point--but we’re having a little one.”  
  
She stifled a chuckle.  “Mm hmm.  Somewhere between Christmas and New Year’s.”  
  
He broke their embrace and reached for the door again.  “That’s rather nice.  Our little one’s birthday   
will be between yours and mine.”  
  
Laura walked into the hallway and commented, “Sure and Mother is already complaining about having to  
shop for six birthdays around the holidays.  It’s a good thing the rest of the family is scattered throughout   
the rest of the year.”  
  
“But she’s quite happy about all of it.”  
  
“It’s rare that I do something that thrills her.  I’m certain she thinks it was all your idea.”  
  
Remington grinned and tugged his ear as they rode in the elevator to the ground floor.  “Ah, she does.    
She insinuated as much the day we told her.”  
  
Laura just shook her head with a wry smile.  Some things would never change.  
  
  
  
After lunch, an armored car pulled up in front of Century Towers, and two armed security guards carried   
a small package to the twelfth floor.  Ian buzzed Mr. Steele, who immediately appeared to sign for the   
nondescript box.  He disappeared again with the package, closing his door behind him.  The secretary   
frowned and crossed his arms.  He didn’t like secrets in his office, and in this agency they were a   
rampant, living entity that annoyed the hell out of him.  He would have to consult with Mildred when she   
returned from the courthouse.  
  
In the privacy of his office, Remington didn’t hesitate to slice into the box with the pocket knife he kept   
in his desk drawer.  He lifted out a small item covered in bubble-wrap and underneath that, velvet.    
Inside the soft fabric was the stone at the crux of all that had occurred in Ireland.  
  
Laura had said she didn’t want it, but he hadn’t been able to resist seeing the stone properly cut.  And   
when he saw the finished gem, he found a jeweler that could turn his sketches into reality.  The artist had   
surrounded the one-and-a-quarter caret pear-cut red diamond with blown platinum strands to make the   
stone look as if it floated in space.  Platinum links the width of an infant’s hand made up the necklace   
from which the pendant was suspended.  Remington sat in his office chair with his back to the bank of   
windows.  He held the necklace in his hand, watching it spin as it dangled from his fingers.  
  
Laura walked in, carrying a file in her hand.  She set it on the desk when she saw what held and came   
around to his side where she leaned against the edge.  Watching her husband’s face, she asked, “What   
are you going to do with it?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  He thought about the past eight weeks since they’d come home.  While things were   
better, they hadn’t quite put it all behind them yet.  Laura was still seeing Dr. Angelo once--and her   
physical therapist twice--each week.  He was spending that and more working out his own difficulties at   
the boxing gym.  “Laura … why aren’t you angry with me?”  
  
“About what?”  
  
“This whole … bloody ordeal!”  
  
Laura sighed.  It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, and she'd given him a similar answer   
each time.  She stifled her irritation, but some of it leaked through anyway.  “Rei, why is this all your   
fault?  You didn’t book the flight to Cork.  You didn’t have us kidnapped.  You did what you had to do   
to get us out of a terrible situation.  And when you couldn’t do any more, you put your trust in me to   
finish it.  What else am I supposed to ask of you?”  Getting hold of her emotions, she leaned over onto   
the desk and brushed her fingers through his hair, adding with sure confidence, “They didn’t break us,   
love.  They couldn’t.”  
  
A month ago he might not have agreed.  But today?  He pulled her off the desk and into his lap, still   
clutching the necklace in his hand.  “No, that they didn’t.”  Remington looked at the diamond again.  “I   
can’t sell it.  I don’t want the money.  You--we paid too high a price for it.  And I don’t want anyone   
else to have it; I feel as if it’s a part of us somehow.”  
  
She took it from him and held the pendant to the light, watching it dance and sparkle as it spun.  “It’s   
gorgeous.”  Maybe it was fanciful imaginings, but in her pregnant state, the suspended red gem reminded   
her of the child she carried.  He took it from her again, and with his eyebrows, asked for permission to   
slip it over her head.  She nodded.  The necklace itself was a long one, allowing the diamond to rest just   
below her sternum.  Laura picked it up again and toyed with it.  “It’s incredible how something so ugly at   
the start can become so extraordinarily beautiful.  
  
Remington placed his hand against the curve of her belly.  “My thoughts exactly.”  
  
Warmed by the feel of his long fingers resting against her abdomen, she cocked her head, shooting him a   
questioning glance and looking at the pendent again.  “You made this?”  Since their marriage, Laura had   
discovered that her husband had a knack for designing jewelry--usually with lyrical, flowing lines in   
platinum or rose gold.  
  
“I commissioned it from my sketches, yes.”    
  
“When?”  
  
He shrugged a shoulder.  “I gave the raw stone to a cutter as soon as we returned.  Quite frankly, I had   
to see what was inside.  Call it old habit or insatiable curiosity--either one is accurate.”  He shifted his   
hand to play with the stone resting against her belly.  “When you told me you were pregnant, I knew   
what I wanted to do with it and gave the gem to the artist a couple of weeks ago.  She does excellent   
work.”  He hesitated and touched his fingers to his lips.  “What … what would you have me do with it?    
I know you said--“  
  
Laura stroked his cheek and pressed a kiss to it.  “I’ll wear it, of course.”  The fact that he created it for   
her made all the difference in the world.  
  
“You’re sure?”  
  
“We have the Policemen’s Ball two weeks from tomorrow.  I think that’s a good place to wear it.  It’ll be   
secure enough.”  She wrinkled her nose, trying to avoid thinking about how valuable the necklace might   
be.  Between it and her wedding ring, she felt something like a Middle Eastern bride wearing her dowry   
in jewels.  
  
Remington chuckled.  “Perhaps.  But you’ll have me with you anyway.”  
  
With no small amount of reluctance, for she adored the jewelry he created for her, Laura stood and drew   
the necklace over her head to lay it on the velvet cloth he held out.  He wrapped it, tucking the piece into   
the box and placing the whole thing into his desk drawer to take home later.  
  
He reached out and touched her middle, sliding his hands to either side of her waist and laying his head   
against her swelling belly, thinking about the heartbeat he’d heard that morning and imagining he could   
hear it now.  
  
“Rei,” she tipped his chin up and stroked his cheek, “we’re okay.”  
  
At times like this, Remington was awed by Laura’s strength of character.  A lesser woman would have   
eyed the stone with avarice; a weaker one would have shied away from the painful memories it evoked.    
But Laura saw beyond all of that to the beauty that had been forged from a nightmare.  It was, at times,   
the way he often thought she must think of him.  
  
  
  
The third unusual event that day occurred shortly before the Steeles closed the office for the weekend.    
They had one last client scheduled to arrive at four-thirty.  He was new to the agency and had requested   
an appointment with Mr. Steele regarding a security system for his home.  
  
Steele had Carter look up the address and from the property tax records draw up an initial plan that could   
be tweaked during or after the meeting.  Even if the client didn’t sign with the agency, the practice was   
good for the apprentice.  
  
Remington straightened his tie and looked over the file one more time after checking his watch.  He   
assumed that the client was purchasing the home as his name didn’t match the ones on the property tax   
rolls.  John Carmine.  It sounded Italian, but the name rang a bell in the deepest recesses of his mind.  He   
frowned as Ian buzzed him.  
  
“Mr. Steele, Mr. Carmine is here.”  
  
“Thank you, Ian.”  By not instructing the secretary to send the client into his office, Connelly knew to   
make gracious apologies about a phone call and that Mr. Steele would be out shortly.  
  
Remington peeked around Laura’s open door.  She was on the telephone, sweet-talking an apartment   
manager into divulging the name of a renter.  Smiling with success, she hung up and wrote down the   
information on the file lying open in front of her before noticing him standing there.  “Don’t you have a   
client waiting?”  
  
“Ah, I do.  Does the name ‘John Carmine’ mean anything to you?”  
  
Laura shook her head.  “No.  Should it?”  
  
He tugged his jacket straight and pulled out the cuffs of his shirt.  “Perhaps not.  It seemed familiar for   
some reason.  No matter.  I’ll be done shortly.”  He retreated to his office, leaving both doors on either   
end of their connecting hallway slightly ajar as a matter of habit.  
  
Out of curiosity and instinct, she stood and straightened her own wine-colored jacket--buttoning it so that   
her pregnancy wasn’t obvious--and made up an excuse to ask Ian a question.  She opened her office   
door at nearly the same time as her husband opened his, and they took a good look at the man pacing in   
front of Ian’s desk.  Tall and thin like Remington, but older and sporting grey streaks in his deep brown   
hair, he was carrying a slim square box behind him as he walked.  
  
“Hello, Cousin … hello, Mickey.”  Irish danced through the hard voice of Johnny Carlisle, a man who   
didn’t like to be kept waiting, as he nodded first to Remington and then to Laura.  Power radiated   
through his slim build.  He wore an expensive suit and neutral expression as he took in the Steeles.  
  
Ian sat straight up at his desk, his open face reflecting dismay as he connected the dots.  
  
Johnny’s eyes skimmed over Laura, and he approached her first, shifting the box to one hand and   
holding out the other to take hers.  Keeping her own face pleasant and controlled, Laura held his gaze   
when she placed her fingers in his.  With practiced grace, he turned her hand over to drop a kiss across   
her knuckles.  
  
The secretary watched Remington flash into movement--the panther pouncing on his prey.  In three silent   
steps, Steele had Carlisle up against a wall and Laura stepping smoothly out of the way.  “You will never   
touch her again, _Cousin_.”  
  
Laura saw alarm flare in Carlisle’s grey-blue eyes before he blanked it and pushed Steele away.  “Aye,   
Ciarán.  ‘Tis just me, Cousin Johnny.  I’ll not hurt ye wife.”  The older man seemed surprised at the   
younger man’s reaction and was quite unused to others standing up to him.  
  
At that, Remington stiffened and snapped, “In my office.  Now.”  He gave Laura a searching look, saw   
the faint question in her eyes, and held the door for her to join them.  
  
She stopped by Ian’s desk and jotted a fast note.  Mildred, my office, door’s open.  To cover up the   
note’s contents, Laura told Ian, “Call on that tomorrow.  We’ll be a while.  Lock up when you leave.”    
He nodded, and as soon as Mr. Steele closed the door, he scrambled for Mildred’s office.  
  
“Mrs. Krebs.”  Hearing concern in his voice, she looked up in surprise from her computer.  “Ah, Johnny   
Carlisle’s here, and Mr. and Mrs. Steele are with him.  Mrs. Steele wants you to listen in.  Her door is   
open.”  She raised her brows, wasting no time in rounding the corner to Laura’s office and stepping   
lightly through the short hallway where the connecting door to Mr. Steele’s office stood open a bare   
inch.  Voices came through clearly.  
  
Laura intentionally stood where Carlisle wouldn’t note the open door.  Remington leaned against the desk  
and, counter to all of the manners he’d ever learned, patently refused to offer a seat to the other man.    
With arms crossed and as angry as she’d ever seen him, Remington had an edge of violence underscoring   
his words.  “What are you doing here, Carlisle?”  
  
Johnny dropped the box on the coffee table before turning to Steele.  “I came to thank ye for the warning   
and wondering why in the bloody hell ye bothered.  Interpol’s on me arse.  Two of me partners are   
sitting in a French jail, and me name’s next on the list.  What did I do to piss ye off, Ciarán?”  
  
“Steele.  The name is Steele, Carlisle.”  
  
“Sure, and if that’s what ye want to be called.  It’s not what ye mum named ye, but it’ll do.”  Johnny   
narrowed his eyes when he saw the other man clench his jaw.   _Ah, now I’ve got a wee bit of leverage,  
Cousin. _ “I was cleaning house the other day and found a box.  Me own mum packed it ‘afore she died.    
‘Tis yours.  I though ye might want it.  Seemed the right thing to do to bring it to ye personally.”  
  
Despite the burning questions, Laura kept quiet.  She was too smart not to keep the fact that she had no   
idea what he was talking about under wraps.  
  
“What do you want, Carlisle?” Steele repeated.  
  
Johnny gambled.  He knew Steele wasn’t responsible, but he had no idea who had brought Interpol down   
on him.  “Call off your Interpol dogs, Steele.  I’ve got ‘em breathing down me neck.”  
  
“I can’t do that.  I wasn’t the one who put them on you in the first place.”  Steele studied his nails and   
watched his adversary out of the corner of his eye.  
  
“Then who in bloody hell did?”  Johnny’s temper snapped.  He could feel the noose tightening about his   
neck already.  
  
Cool and smooth as aged scotch on the rocks, Laura stepped in to play bad cop.  “Interpol already had   
your number.  I believe the mistake was yours when you began playing your little game with Denis O’  
Callaghan and the others fifteen years ago.  We only called Interpol to get O’Callaghan off our backs.    
Neither of us takes kidnapping and brutality lightly.”  
  
Johnny flinched.  It was worse than he thought.  He didn’t think Interpol had gotten that close.    
“Buggering hell.  I thought having him dead would do the world a favor.  I thought it would do you two a   
favor.  I owed you that at least.”  
  
Steele arched a brow.  “Are you saying you had him killed?”  
  
“Of course, I did.  Do I look stupid, Ciarán … sorry, Steele?”  
  
Abruptly reminded that Carlisle was one of the most powerful men in Dublin, Laura calmly interjected,   
“Why did you think it would be a favor to us?”  
  
Johnny crossed his arms.  “I know what he did to ye, and I know what the buggering bastard was   
capable of.  The only reason Denis pegged Ciarán was because he knew he was me cousin.  ‘Twas   
another way to get back at me, ye see.”  
  
“How in the bloody hell did he know we were related?  I’ve never told anyone,” Steele spat out.  Laura’s   
eyes rounded, and she blinked twice to clear her expression before Johnny noted it.   _They are cousins of  
some sort. …  Oh Lord, I hope Interpol never finds out.  
  
_The older man looked tired and worn, a far cry from the sophisticate who made a move on Laura just   
two months before in a London restaurant.  “Because I owed ye for what happened after me mother   
died, and I made it clear to me partners when ye started working Dublin that ye was to be left alone.  Ye   
wouldn’t join me business, but I could do that at least.”  
  
Laura reeled in shock and struggled to stay composed despite the anger that flashed through her.    
Remington reached out and grabbed the other man by the collar.  “This … this is why I wouldn’t work   
for you.  Too many innocent bystanders get caught up in your f--“   A glance to Laura had him   
rewording his phrase.  “--bloody messes.  You think I don’t know what Denis did to Erin?  Do you think   
I don’t know what he could have done to Laura?”  He shoved Johnny back several steps where the man   
collapsed into a chair.  Carlisle raked his hands through his hair in a motion that bore an uncanny   
resemblance to Remington’s own habit.  
  
Johnny sagged in defeat.  “Ciarán … Steele ... I’m sorry.  I’m protecting someone.”  
  
“Erin’s daughter.”  
  
“You were always bloody quick.  She’s my daughter too.  Erin and I had an affair.  I loved her.  I’ve   
always loved her.  Denis finally figured it out, and when Siobhán was five, Erin brought her to me   
because he threatened to kill the little girl.  I … asked her to stay … I told her I could keep her safe from   
him.  But she insisted that she had made her choice, poor though it was.  Erin wasn’t one for divorce.    
She knew what she was going back to.  He’d been abusing her for years, and it didn’t take long before he   
had her killed.  I finally got proof a few years ago, and I’ve been doing everything I could to break the   
bastard.  I’d have done him in years ago if he would have ever come out of hiding, but all he’d ever do is   
scuttle about Cork where nearly everyone was in his pocket.”  
  
Carlisle stood and walked to the window.  “Steele, my daughter means everything to me.  All I’m asking   
is a way to protect her.  If I go to prison, I have no claim on her, and I’ve got too many enemies.    
Someone will see her dead before the year is out.”  
  
Reluctantly, Remington asked, “What is it you want me to do?  I can’t imagine with all your connections   
and money that I can be of assistance.”  
  
“Short of calling off Interpol, tell me how to take Siobhán and hide.  It’s the only thing left for me.”  
  
There was a terribly long silence before Steele’s voice came low and icy.  "I should do nothing, Johnny.    
I should let your daughter spin in the wind just as I did all those years ago.  Should I call some of those   
cousins and see if they’ll take her in as they did me?”  
  
Carlisle blanched.  “Ciarán, I told ye; I know I owe ye.  Bloody hell, I was eighteen when me mother   
died.  You weren’t four yet.  When the first of them popped up and offered to take ye in, I thought ye’d   
be better off than with the likes of me.  By the time I developed a bloody conscience, ye were gone.    
Later I heard ye hooked up with ye da, and I figured ye were better off.”  
  
Remington shot Johnny a hard look.  “You knew Daniel was my father.”  
  
“Of course, it was common knowledge, Ciarán.”  
  
Remington’s temper splintered and he barked out, “It’s Steele, damn it!  Ciarán doesn’t exist anymore   
than any other name I’d used until my wife gave me this one.”  
  
Carlisle reached over, snatched the box off the table and shoved it at his cousin.  “Tell that to me mum.”  
  
Shocked into silence, Remington set the box on his desk and lifted the top off.  Inside was a white   
christening gown, a certificate and a small stack of pictures that he thumbed through rapidly.  It was all   
Laura could do to keep watching Carlisle instead of her husband’s expression.  She thought she would   
see triumph in Johnny’s face for getting the best of Remington, but instead she saw only regret and a   
nervous fear.  At the edge of her vision, Laura saw Remington, with the pictures in his hand, walk away   
to face the windows.  
  
Like a lioness guarding her injured mate, Laura crossed over to lean against the desk and stare at   
Carlisle.  “Why did you come here?” she asked.  “You have no hold over us, and we don’t have one on   
you.”  
  
Johnny gave Laura an opaque look and stroked his chin.  “You’re a feisty one.  I like you.  Took me a   
bit to put together your clues.  Mickey.”  He snorted.  “That was clever.  Brutally accurate, but clever.”  
  
“It’s nice to know you’ve pegged my personality, but you haven’t answered my question,” she said drily.  
  
The two had a short staring contest and Johnny lost.  “Bloody hell.  Ciarán didn’t tip me off.  You did.”    
He sagged in defeat.  He’d hoped his cousin would help him and had taken the meet with his wife in   
London as an indication that they could be some sort of associates.  But he’d read the situation entirely   
wrong.  It was apparent that his cousin still held him accountable for events that had occurred thirty-odd   
years before.  
  
Remington brooded as he stared out the window and listened to the exchange behind him.  Abruptly, he   
made a decision.  But first, he was going to make Johnny sweat.  Without a word, he crossed to the little   
bar in the corner of his office and poured two Irish whiskeys, one of which he handed to Carlisle.  
  
Setting his upon the desk, he took Laura’s face in his hands.  “Will you give us a minute, love?”  She   
searched his face and saw only sadness touching his eyes.  Quietly, she nodded and straightened up, only   
to have him grasp her fingertips and squeeze lightly before letting go.  
  
Meeting Mildred in the hallway, Laura waved her forward and closed both doors with a quiet snick.  She   
stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets and stared at the ceiling.  Wisely, Mildred said nothing as she   
took a seat on the divan in Laura’s office.  She watched the younger woman begin to pace as her   
agitation increased.  
  
  
  
Steele cleared his mind as he watched Laura close the door behind her.  He knew there would be hell to   
pay later for not coming clean about his connection with Carlisle, but he blanked it out of his head and   
focused on the man sitting across from him as he took a small sip of Jameson’s.  “All right, Johnny.    
What aren’t ye telling me?”  
  
The older man’s eyebrow quirked at the Irish music threading through Steele’s voice.  It was disarming   
because of its rare appearance.  “I’ve been getting me books clean for Siobhán, but they aren’t clean   
enough yet.  Killing O’Callaghan was arrogance on me part.  They haven’t pinned me, but they will.”  
  
Remington spoke in a clipped British accent again.  “Why should I help you?  Why should I help the man  
that bloody well abandoned me as a boy?  The same one that nearly got my own wife killed while playing  
this bloody game with O’Callaghan?”  
  
Johnny stood and walked to the window as Steele had earlier.  “No reason at all.  Except perhaps to help   
Siobhán.  Not for me.  But for me mum.  She loved ye, Ciarán … ah, Steele.  The proof is there in the   
box.”  He glanced back at the younger man.  
  
Testing him, Remington asked, “What if I could get Siobhán to a safe place?  What if I can protect her   
but not you?”  
  
He could see the pain in Carlisle’s eyes.  “If that’s my only choice … then I’ll take it.”  
  
“How did you know Daniel was my father?”  
  
The abrupt change in topics startled Johnny, and he took a deep breath before answering.  He had the   
distinct feeling that his daughter’s fate depended on his answer, and an icy cold thread darted up his spine   
as he considered his words.  “My mother told me the story when ye came to live with us.  She said her   
niece, Mary Claire, was ill before you were born.  Yours sent mine a letter saying she was scared she   
wouldn’t live and asked her to care for ye.  She said ye father’s name was Daniel Chalmers and gave the   
whole sordid story of her affair with him.”  
  
He took a sip of his drink and continued, “My mother wrote her back, but it was already too late.  It took   
a couple of months, but the orphanage gave ye over on account of the letter; a worker told her that ye   
mum had named ye Ciarán on account of ye dark looks--ye had the same black hair and deep blue eyes   
as a babe.”  
  
“Then why wasn’t that name listed on my birth certificate?”  
  
Johnny shook his head.  “I don’t know.  I remember Mum muttering about it.  She was determined to   
have ye baptized properly though.”  
  
Remington retrieved the certificate from the box.  “Ciarán Patrick McGee?  All right, I get ‘Ciarán.’    
Where did the ‘Patrick’ come from?”  
  
“Mum refused to name ye after ye father since he was in the clink, so she named ye after St. Patrick   
instead.”  
  
“Like half the lads in Ireland.  The other half is named after St. Brendan.”  
  
“Aye.  Something such as that.”  Johnny watched his younger cousin down the rest of his drink and set   
the glass on his desk again.  
  
Steele gave him a name.  “Riley Kelly.”  
  
“Riley Kelly?  Who is that?” Johnny wondered.  
  
“Contact Kelly in Shannon.  He’ll get your daughter out of the country for a rather steep price.  Meet her   
in the Bahamas and see what kind of assets you can move there.  Then you’ll need to talk to Pierre   
Dumont in Dunmore Village.  He’ll set up new identities for you so you can move somewhere else.  I   
recommend Buenos Aires.  It’s a long way from Ireland and Interpol.”  He waited a beat.  “And Johnny,   
you can’t go home.  Ever.”  
  
Carlisle stood motionless for a long while as he saw the empire he’d built crumbling around him.  “How   
long until you call Interpol to tell them I was here?”  
  
“I’ll give you twenty-four hours.  That’s the best I can do.  I suggest that both of you be in the Bahamas   
by then, or you’ll never get out.”  
  
“If I don’t, can you keep Siobhán safe?”  
  
Steele shook his head.  “I won’t put my family at risk for yours, Carlisle.  I don’t owe you that much.    
Go now so we don’t have to regret it.”  
  
Johnny hesitated and then stuck out his hand.  But Remington held his palm up--refusing to take it.    
“Go,” he repeated.     
  
“You bought me time, Steele--both in Ireland and now.  I owe you.  Perhaps someday I’ll be able to   
repay you.”  
  
Steele didn’t acknowledge him and deliberately turned to the windows again.  In the end, Johnny   
shrugged and walked out the door.  
  


 

 


	11. Connections

_Tony kept his binoculars trained on the door to the building.  Carlisle had come to LA and headed  
straight for Steele’s office.  Roselli had flown the SST and then hopped a private Lear to land only  
moments before the Irish mob boss.  
  
He scowled.  The man had carried a slim white box into the building with him, and now it was  
nowhere to be found.  He radioed another agent who had come with him.  “Stay on Carlisle.  I’m on  
Steele and I’m moving to the garage.  It’s after five so he’s sure to leave soon.”  
  
  
_ Ian pushed Mrs. Steele’s office door open.  She nervously paced in front of the window while Mildred  
kept an eye on her.  “Mrs. Steele?  Mr. Carlisle just left.”  
  
Laura glanced down at her watch.  “Thank you, Ian, and thank you for staying late.  I’ll see you in the  
morning.”  The young man nodded and closed the door again.  
  
“Mrs. Steele, I gotta give you credit.  You’ve got good instincts.  You said there was more to this,”  
Mildred commented.  Laura hadn’t said a word while she paced, her irritation apparent.  
  
“How am I supposed to be his partner if he doesn’t share these little tidbits with me?” she fumed.    
“Cousins with Carlisle.  Damn.”  She shook her head.  
  
“Why do you think he didn’t say anything?”  
  
She threw up her hands before crossing them and leaning against her desk.  Then she scrunched up her  
face as she gave the question an honest assessment.  
  
Remington stepped through her door, calm as ever, but both she and Mildred could see the uncertainty  
and frustration in his blue eyes.  “Laura, Mildred … I--“ he stopped and rubbed the back of his neck.  
  
His wife only raised a brow while Mildred put her hands on her hips.  She shook her finger at him.    
“Chief, I know you like to keep your secrets, but how are we to anticipate things like this if you don’t  
share them when you’re supposed to?”  
  
“I, ah, I don’t know, Mildred.”  He touched his fingers to his lips and tried again.  “Laura--“   _Good Lord,  
how was he to explain? _  He tried again, “Laura--“  
  
She held her hand up.  “Don’t.  I imagine that no matter how many times I complain about your  
damnable past there will be things you will always keep hidden in order to protect those you care about.”    
She cocked her head.  “No one can spill what they don’t know. …  Is it something like that, Rei?”  
  
His voice was flat as he spoke.  “It was apparent that Interpol hadn’t made the connection, and I didn’t  
see any reason to make an issue of it.  I was a very young child when I lived with his mother, my great-  
aunt.  I came to stay with him a few weeks here and there as I was passed around from one family to  
another until I was dumped into the orphanage.  Later, when Daniel and I were working around England  
and France, he caught up with me in London and offered me a job.”  
  
“Doing what?”  
  
“His right-hand man.  He liked what he’d heard about me and had a soft spot for the family connection.    
Siobhán was an infant then, and Carlisle had started having a guilty conscience about passing me over.    
He told me that his mother had charged him with keeping me, but he’d gone against her wishes.  I  
imagine that still bugs the hell out of him.  That was the last time I saw him until today.”  
  
Laura sat in her chair, wondering about the twisted, tangled paths of fate that had taken Remington on so  
many different journeys.  “Why did you turn him down?”  
  
He closed his eyes for a moment, and when they opened, white-hot heat burned in them.  “Because I  
knew what happened to those that crossed the Six--Johnny included.  He thought nothing of having         
O’Callaghan killed.  No matter what guilty feeling he might have about me, he’s not had one over the  
hundreds of families they’ve collectively destroyed over the past two decades.”  Images of a burned out  
building he'd happened upon during one of his nighttime adventures surfaced.  He’d never forgotten the  
two children screaming for their dad as their mother looked on in horror.  Later he’d heard that the  
owner, the father of those two children, had argued with one of the Six’s henchmen.  The retaliation had  
been brutal.  
  
Remington picked up a pen off the top of the credenza and began fiddling with it.  “The white roses?  It’s  
his trademark.  He had them at his mother’s funeral.  Anytime someone was killed in his dealings, he  
would send a dozen of them to the funeral.  As if his sympathy would make a difference to a wife whose  
husband was shot while defending a grocery store from his ‘enforcers’ or a child whose mother was  
killed because she refused to trade favors to one of his men for protection.”  
  
He pinched the bridge of his nose.  “’Tis the dirtiest of businesses, Laura, and I wanted nothing to do  
with it.  Daniel and I left the next morning.  He never asked me why I wanted to go, just packed his  
bags.”  
  
She was carefully neutral when she asked, “Why does he call you ‘Ciarán’?”  
  
Remington put the pen down.  “Because apparently that is what my mother named me.  It means ‘little  
dark one.’  I’d heard so many names by the time I was eight that I had always assumed it was just  
another one that someone had used for me at some time or another.  I had no idea that it had any real  
meaning.”  He let out a cold, bitter laugh.  “Daniel Harrison Chalmers and Ciarán Patrick McGee.  I’ve  
spent my whole life looking for a name.  I’ve gone by so many that I can’t remember them all.  And in  
the end I stole one and kept it, and now I’ve been handed two more.  It’s a bloody embarrassment of  
riches.”  
  
Mildred still wasn’t quite ready to forgive him.  “Mr. Steele, what did Carlisle want with you?”  
  
“Interpol’s closing in on him.  He wanted me to pull them off, and barring that, find a way for him to go  
under with his daughter.  
  
“And will you?”  She leveled a hard look at him.  
  
“I gave him a name that will get his daughter out of the country.  The rest is up to him.”  
  
Laura quietly sighed.  “What will you tell Interpol?”  
  
“The truth about our connection.  I see no way of hiding it now.  I’m sure they’ll have tracked him here  
and wonder why he’s come.  I gave him a day.  I … maybe I owe his mother that.”  
  
Mildred relented and crossed the room to pat him on the cheek.  “You’re okay, Mr. Steele.”  He  
shrugged again, in embarrassment this time, and touched his face where her fingers had warmed it.    
Grateful for her understanding, he squeezed her shoulders in a quick hug.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Pink touched her face as she reached for the door knob.  “Chief, we may not like it, but we  
understand.”  She shot a glance back at Laura and was gratified to see the other woman nod.  “You two  
have a good weekend.  I’m meeting the girls at the bowling alley.”  She shut the door behind her.  
  
A quick glance at Laura told him that she wasn’t angry.  He walked over to perch on her desk, unsure of  
where to go from here.  It was a surprise when she took an entirely different tack than he expected.  
  
“Can I see what was in the box?”  Her curiosity was killing her.  She’d only caught a glimpse of light-  
colored material and a few pictures.  
  
“Ah, certainly.”  He ducked out of the room and returned with the box in hand.  
  
Laura removed the cover and her heart pounded.  Six photographs lay on top of a piece of paper  
embellished with ornate writing.  Fabric could be seen around the edges of the certificate.  Boxes, she  
thought.  Answers to her husband’s past seemed to arrive in boxes.  
  
The slightly curling black-and-white pictures were unmistakably the childhood photos of the man sitting  
on her desk.  The intense brooding gaze from the infant, the curve of the cheekbone of the toddler, and--  
in what was obviously the last one taken--a laughing small boy with a shock of black curls as he played in  
a tub of bubbles--all together the six photographs depicted what one might call a normal, happy  
childhood.  This revelation made the knowledge of the tiny boy being yanked away and thrust into an  
abusive environment all the more heart-wrenching.  
  
With a pang to her heart, Laura wondered if the child she carried would look anything like the boy in the  
pictures.  She set them aside and picked up the baptismal certificate, reading the name “Ciarán Patrick  
McGee” in elegant calligraphy.  This too she set aside.  Underneath it all was an elaborate baby’s gown,  
meant for a christening.  The fancy cuffs and hem dripped with the intricate tangles of Irish lace.  She  
also found a small shift to be worn underneath the gown and an infant’s cap frothing with still more lace.  
  
Perhaps it was the hormones, for Laura wasn’t one to be a watering pot, or perhaps it was the sure  
knowledge that someone had loved him for at least a few short years; in any case, tears slid her cheeks as  
she held the material that had once clothed her husband as an infant.  
  
Remington had never been one to be sentimental about many things, although he had an odd item or two  
that he’d rather not lose, but seeing his wife weep over a tiny dress had him looking away in order to  
keep his composure.  As a matter of habit, he handed her his handkerchief, and she dried her tears.  
  
“Perhaps you did owe his mother something then,” was all she said before packing up the box again--  
rising with it and her purse.  
  
  
  
_Tony watched the couple from his hiding place in the garage.  Sure enough, Laura was carrying_  
 _Carlisle’s box.  Steele toted a briefcase and held her door open while she got in rather ungracefully_  
 _before rounding the car and firing up the engine._  
  
_Lowering his sunglasses and grateful he’d cut his hair short again so as not to be recognized, the spy_  
 _inched backwards until he could slip down the stairs and to the street where his motorcycle was_  
 _waiting.  He pulled into traffic as the Steeles exited the garage._  
  
_He was surprised when the pair only went home, and he settled into a nearby bar to watch for any_  
 _further movement that evening.  A quick call to the other agent revealed that Carlisle had returned to_  
 _the airport and hired a local jet for a quick flight to Florida.  He ordered the other agent to stay on_  
 _Carlisle’s tail, assuring the other man that he would catch up within a day or so._  
  
_Well after dark, the Steeles hadn’t stirred, and Tony made his next move._

 


	12. Partners

Laura cleaned up the kitchen after dinner while Remington sat at the island, drinking his wine and playing  
with the red diamond pendant he’d given her.  She rubbed the back of her neck for a moment before   
wiping down the counters.  
  
Noting the movement, he asked, “Neck sore?”  
  
“Um, no, actually.”  Going with her gut, she offered, “This might sound odd, but I’ve the uncomfortable   
feeling we’re being watched.  The hair on the back of my neck is standing straight up.”  
  
Smiling at her excellent natural instincts, he replied, “We are.  We were followed by a bloke on a   
motorcycle all the way home.  I called Kaleb while you were in the tub, and he got a bead on him from   
the park across the street.”   
  
Irritation had her making her movements sharp and precise.  “And you were going to tell me when?”  
  
“There was no need.  You already knew.  Any particular reason why you are only now telling me?” he   
retorted, neatly turning her statement back on her.   
  
Laura threw her hands up and stuck them to her hips.  “I don’t know why I have these debates with   
you.”  He only grinned and played with the bauble again.  Thinking for a moment, she added, “Interpol is   
obviously following Carlisle’s movements, so they know he’s contacted us.  I’m sure they are wondering   
why we haven’t reported it.”  
  
“I’m planning to blame the delay on my lovely but pregnant wife.”  
  
“Ah, now that explains why you wanted to stay in this evening.  Very clever, Mr. Steele.”  
  
“Thank you, Miss Holt.”  He mock-toasted her with his wine glass.   
  
“That’s Mrs. Steele to you, buster.”  Dropping the dishtowel on the counter, she walked to him and   
reeled him in for a quick kiss on the lips.   
  
“I’ll have to remember that.”  He laid soft hands on her thickening waist and stroked with his thumbs.   
  
The middle of her forehead crinkled.  “Do you think we’ve been watched this whole time, and I’m just   
now catching on?”  The thought depressed her.   
  
Seeing her face fall, he tried to reassure her.  “Ah, I don’t think we’ve actually had someone spying on us   
until today.”  
  
“But--“  She could see from his eyes that there was more.   
  
He tugged at his ear, unconscious of the automatic gesture.  “There have been a number of ‘bumps’   
against the security systems both here and at the agency over the past few weeks.  Rather like mice   
nibbling at the wires.  Neither has been compromised; if that had happened, I would have told you   
immediately.”  He stroked her arms and flipped her hair away from her shoulders.  “I didn’t want to   
worry you, love.  You’ve had enough on your plate for a time.”  
  
She nodded.  “I understand.  What do you mean by ‘bumps’?”  
  
“I’ve been experimenting lately.  It’s a bit like stringing bells on a line.  If you brush up against it, the   
bells will ring.  I suspect they’ve been attempting to tap our phones and sneak bugs into our office and   
home.”  He grinned wickedly and wiggled his brows.  “But they haven’t made it past my little surprises.”  
  
Smiling a little in response, Laura began pacing between the kitchen and living room.  “If we’re being   
watched, then they might have seen him carrying in your box and us carrying it out.  That doesn’t look   
good for us.”  
  
“No--“  He was interrupted by the telephone ringing.   
  
“Steele here.”  
  
“Sir, Carter.  He’s leaving.”  
  
“Stay close.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”   
  
Remington set the phone down.  “He’s making his move.  I’ll lay odds that he’s going to the agency to   
see what he can find.  Care to change clothes, love?”  
  
  
  
From the narrow space in the ceiling above the detective agency, Tony trailed competent fingers over   
Steele’s security system and cursed a blue streak when he opened the panel.  It was a convoluted   
nightmare of traps, misdirection and good old-fashioned electric shock.  Buchanan had already informed   
him that his men had been unable to crack it.  
  
Interpol might have said they wanted the Steeles to train their people, but they wanted as much   
information on the pair as they could get as well.  The police agency didn’t like anyone slipping their grip,   
and Steele had done more than his fair share of that.   
  
Tony personally resented the man for trapping Laura into a false marriage.  Perhaps it was time to   
liberate her from her cage.  He rather thought the evidence he was carrying might be enough to do it.   
  
Deciding on a bold move, he reached over his head and lifted a pair of wires.  He cut both of them with   
his knife before replacing the panel, backing out of the shaft and dropping through the ceiling into the   
hallway bathroom.  He returned the tile to its place to cover his tracks and then stepped lightly through   
the darkness to pick the lock at the agency door.   
  
He wasn’t trying to conceal his presence now, and he knew it would be only a matter of time before   
Steele showed up.  Normally, he would have busted through the door just to irritate the other man, but   
since Laura worked here, he had no desire to distress her further.  He wondered again how she had put   
up with His Arrogance these last two years.   
  
From the size of the office, he surmised that the business was highly successful.  A quick reconnaissance   
revealed four smaller offices, a break room and two identically-sized larger offices along the windows.    
One had Laura’s soft touch reflected in the divan, the dazzling modern art prints and a delicate lamp on   
the desk.  The other had Steele’s stark sophistication with clean lines, old film noir movie posters and   
only a few oddities on the shelves above the bar.   
  
Taking advantage of the offerings, he poured himself a short glass of scotch and opened the video cabinet   
tucked into the wall near the desk.  It was rather like setting a scene, he thought as he popped in the   
video tape.  A few clicks with the remote had it set to the part he wanted, and he shut it off again.   
  
He made a quick guess that he had less than ten minutes before Steele arrived.  A nasty sneer appeared   
on his face.  It was going to be fun to nail the man cold with Carlisle and then conduct a romance with a   
newly-freed Laura while her ex-husband watched from his jail cell.  He settled into the executive chair   
and propped his feet on the desk while he waited, idly looking through drawers while he bided his time.  
  
  
  
Carter called again from a payphone when the man parked his bike just outside the towers.  Remington   
ordered him to wait for them in the stairwell of the twelfth floor.   
  
Laura walked out of the bedroom, and Remington saw that she matched him, wearing black from head to   
toe.   
  
“I’m ready.”  She tugged self-consciously at the sleeve, having had a few uncomfortable moments   
finding a shirt that didn’t cling distractingly to her swelling breasts and belly.  Out of desperation, she had  
yanked one of Remington’s shirts off the hanger and pulled it on.  A belt at the waist and a pair of   
leggings gave her freedom of movement.   
  
Admiring her form, Remington didn’t suppress the grin.  “Good.  Carter called.  The tail just went to our   
building.  Nice shirt.”   
  
She posed if she was wearing a beaded ball gown.  “This old thing?  I found it in my closet.”  He laughed   
before stroking her cheek and dropping his hand to her belly.  A frission of anxiety shivered through him   
as he recalled the sound of the heartbeat from the morning.  Laura covered his hand with hers.  “I won’t   
forget, Rei.”   
  
Involuntarily, his fingers twitched, and it was a moment before he nodded.  “Of course.”  He glanced at   
the coffee table.  “Would you bring the box?  We might need evidence.”   
  
  
  
They were halfway to the agency when both of their pagers began vibrating.  “What’s the number?”   
Remington asked.   
  
Laura checked.  “Two-two-four.”  She knew he’d linked the entire security system to their new pagers   
and could now tell what part was compromised by the number that appeared.  
  
“He’s been in the attic.  That means a professional.”   
  
Seconds later, their pagers went off again.  “Two-one-zero,” she read.   
  
“That’s the front door.  Lock’s been picked.  Brazen bugger.  He must know that the security’s been   
tripped and picked the lock anyway.”  They pulled up behind the motorcycle, and Laura automatically   
noted make, model and license plate.  She would call it in to Mildred later.   
  
“Laura, look.”  Remington pointed to the lit windows of his office.  “Someone wants to be found.”  They   
casually walked into the building, taking the elevator to the thirteenth floor and coming down the   
stairwell--picking up Carter on the way.   
  
“Mr. Steele, Mrs. Steele,” he acknowledged.  
  
Remington was short as he rattled off a list of orders to Kaleb.  “We have a professional.  Probably   
Interpol.  He’s in my office with the light on, so I assume he wants to be found and have a little chat.    
Back up Laura through her office.  And if necessary, shove her into the safe room.”  
  
She rolled her eyes at him.  “Mr. Steele, I won’t make any stupid decisions.”   
  
He clutched her shirt and pressed a hard kiss to her lips.  “I’ll hold you to that, Miss Holt.”   
  
With a confidence he didn’t feel, with half his brain focused on Laura and the child she carried, he held   
the door open for the team, hesitating only long enough for her to drop the box on Ian’s desk and slip   
with Kaleb into her office.  Three, two, one … go.  He pushed the door to his office wide open while at   
the same time, Laura cracked the connecting door.   
  
He didn’t bother to hide his annoyance at the sight of his old nemesis.  Tony had been nothing more than   
a bloody pain in the … well, nether regions, during his and Laura’s impromptu honeymoon in Acapulco--  
and even later when they chased a false case to London.  The man had flirted with Laura and used   
Steele’s problems with the U.S. Immigration department to force him into helping Roselli expose a British   
double agent in order to get back into the good graces of the American government.    
  
“Well, well, well, it seems that I don’t have mice nibbling on my wires.  Apparently, I’ve caught a rather   
large rat.”  The sarcasm in Steele’s voice came through loud and clear--and Laura had to stuff a hand in   
her mouth to keep from laughing out loud at his comment.   
  
As soon as he'd said "rat," she knew exactly who was on the other side of that door.  She leaned back to   
Kaleb and whispered, “Tony Roselli, probably CIA, but I wouldn’t swear to it.”   _Wait a minute.  What’s  
he doing here--now?_  A chill in her veins had her backing away from the crack in the door long enough   
to retrieve the relatively new Beretta she kept locked in her desk.  She didn’t think Tony was a threat,   
but it never hurt to be sure.  The waters could get deep very quickly with Roselli around.  He had a way   
of stirring up trouble.  
  
Kaleb’s eyes widened as he watched her slide back into place at the base of the crack, holding the gun   
competently in her left hand.  She was such a petite, fragile-looking woman that to see her in a deadly   
pose startled him, and he had to shake his head to readjust his assessment of her.  In the nearly two years   
he’d been with the agency, he’d seen her brilliant mind at work solving the most complex of problems.    
He’d tagged along as she and Steele bluffed their way past even the most hardened of criminals.  But      
he’d never seen her ready to defend the life of another.  Silently, he reached behind him and pulled his   
own piece from under his jacket.  
  
“Antony.”  Cold formality coated Steele’s voice.  “Did you forget where you work?  Or do you need my   
help getting your job back again?”   
  
Tony hated the way the man pronounced his name but only crossed his arms a little more comfortably   
and settled further into the desk chair.  “Nice to see you too, Steele.  Unfortunately for you, I’m still   
employed--and my boss isn’t very happy with you at the moment.”  
  
Acting more nonchalant than he felt, Remington walked to his own bar and poured himself a splash of   
Amaretto over ice.  When he turned around, the formal manner he assumed put Roselli on alert.  “I see   
you’ve already made free with my bar and my desk.  Anything else you have in mind?”   
  
Tony didn’t miss the implication about Laura and ignored it.  He had read about Steele’s abilities in the   
dossier.  He’d known the man was quicker than most and took more chances than a drunk at a baccarat   
table but hadn’t honestly believed that he was much more than a first-rate con artist.  Which was one of   
the two reasons why he was here--to make sure Laura was safe from his clutches--and to figure out why   
Carlisle was talking to them anyway.  
  
“Actually, I do.  You see, I was handed some very interesting evidence and funny enough, your name   
turned up.  Yours and Laura’s.  And then I took a look at this tape I was handed.  You remember--this   
one?”  He held up the remote control and pressed the "Play" button.  In seconds the screen was filled   
with images from O’Callaghan’s cell--specifically, the part where Laura was screaming as Remington   
held her down.  He muted the sound but left the video on.  “See anything familiar?”  
  
“Turn it off,” Steele ordered.  Fear of Laura seeing the tape nearly drove him to his knees, but he didn’t   
let it show.  Rage kept him standing.  He was going to hunt Buchanan down and murder him.  He’d   
promised that the tape would be locked down.   _How in the bloody hell did it land in Roselli’s hands?_  
  
Tony yanked his knife out of his boot and began cleaning his fingernails.  “I rather like watching it.  I   
knew you were a creep and a hustler two years ago.  This only proves it.  So tell me: how is Laura   
handling the fact that you ought to be gelded for what you did to her?”   
  
Doing his best to ignore the video, Remington narrowed his eyes and began walking toward the window.    
“Laura is my wife.  Be careful what you say about her, Antony.”   
  
“Oh, I have nothing derogatory to say about Laura, only about you.”  He pointed at Steele with the tip of   
the knife.  “Exactly what kind of deal have you struck with Carlisle?  Going to take over his little empire   
in Dublin?”  The last statement will filled with sarcasm.   
  
Remington deliberately turned his back to the room and stared out the window.  From where he was, he   
could keep an eye on Roselli’s expressions in the reflection on the glass.  “Once again, you think you   
have it all figured out, Antony.  But you haven’t even begun to ask the right questions.  I should ask you   
a few.  I’d like to know exactly how you got hold of that tape.”  
  
Tony dropped his feet to the floor, shut the knife and toyed with it in his hands on the broad desk.  “Well   
now, that’s the interesting part.  It seems that an Interpol agent by the name of James Buchanan wanted   
our help in closing down the Dublin Six, especially since one particular member has quite a few assets   
that have been moved in and out of the States.  I received a very fascinating portfolio of evidence--  
including a videotape and a dossier discussing how Laura posed as a snitch to pass information to   
Carlisle.  She was supposed to lay the groundwork so that an agent could be insinuated into his   
operation.  But she didn’t.  She tipped him off, and he’s been staying two steps ahead of us ever since.    
It’s not making you look very good, Steele.”  
  
Remington deliberately provoked the man.  “Antony, I can never quite picture you as a spy.  Is that all   
you’ve managed to dig up?  I’m not impressed.”   
  
“Not everyone needs to be able to blend with the British upper crust, Steele.”  Keeping his cool, Tony   
stood, keeping the remote in his hand as he rounded the desk to lean against it with arms crossed.    
“Explain to me why I shouldn’t arrest you for assisting one of our most wanted fugitives.”   
  
Remington sighed as if defeated.  He walked out of the office and retrieved the box from Ian’s desk   
where Laura had left it.  With a sneer, he thrust it at Roselli.  
  
Tony set the remote down and opened the thin package.  He frowned when he saw the contents.  Lifting   
a picture free, he scowled in confusion.  “What’s this?”   
  
“Baby pictures.  Johnny’s mother raised me until I was three or so.  We’re cousins of a sort.”  
  
“Why would Carlisle bring these to you now?”   
  
“He hoped I would get Interpol off him.  He thought Laura’s tip meant that I was interested in joining his   
enterprise.”  
  
“So what was this?  A bribe?”  
  
Steele shrugged, completely relaxed.  He was in his element now--skillfully threading through the truth,   
creating the image he desired.  “Call it what you will.  I told him I can’t do anything about Interpol.”   
  
Befuddled by what he was seeing and hearing, Tony shook his head.  “If you two are cousins, why     
aren’t you a part of his operation?”  
  
Remington sipped his drink.  “Because even I have principles, Antony.”  
  
“Principles?  You?  I’ve seen your dossier, Steele.  Don’t kid around with me.  Not to mention that I   
know exactly how you’ve conned Laura these past two years.  You’ve got a pretty decent set up here.    
Nice, cushy job.  Penthouse.  Roll in the hay when you want it.”   
  
Blue eyes iced over.  “Leave Laura out of this, Antony.”   
  
“How long is she going to buy your game, Steele?  Because the one that you’re playing could land her   
five to ten in the pen.”      
  
Remington pivoted, coolly set his drink on the desk, then led with a right cross that landed on Roselli’s   
good Italian chin.  After that, the trading of punches was merely a given.  With more than a little glee,   
Steele took out weeks of burning anger on Roselli.  This wasn’t boxing.  It was an out-and-out dirty,   
gutter-style bare-knuckled fight.  And Antony was giving as good as he got.   
  
Tony welcomed the confrontation with relish.  Part of him was furious at having to investigate the very   
man that made it possible to clear his name.  The other part still held a small torch for his wife and   
resented the feeling he’d lost the game before he’d even had a chance to play.   
  
Laura dug in her shirt pocket and held out a five to Kaleb, but he shook his head and whispered in her   
ear.  “Nope.  Can’t go against the boss man.  Sure as hell wouldn’t want to meet either one of ‘em in a   
dark alley.”  They peered out of the door together as the two men slugged it out like a couple of bar   
brawlers.   
  
When the lamp on the desk crashed to the floor, Laura had had enough.  She tucked the gun into the   
back of her belt and shoved the door open, waving Kaleb to stay low and out of sight.   
  
Both men snapped their heads around at her entrance.  “Finished?” she said sourly.  Remington   
recovered first, standing up and touching the back of his hand to his lip before picking up his drink and   
knocking it back.  He forced himself not to glance at the video.  He watched Laura instead.  
  
Tony pushed himself up from where he was sprawled on the desk and leaned against it.  “Hello, Laura.”  
  
“Hello, Tony.  Do you have a purpose here or did you stop by just to be annoying?”  
  
He cocked his head as he flexed his hand.  “Given the evidence I was handed, I preferred to think that I   
might be coming to your rescue again.”  He reached behind him and clicked off the mute button on the   
remote so that the sounds from the video reached all of them.  Remington’s knuckles whitened on his   
glass.   
  
Laura walked around the desk and retrieved the remote, pressing the mute button again.  “Do I look as if   
I need rescuing?”  
  
Tony frowned.  Given the description of her injuries, he certainly hadn’t expected to find her here--  
especially not on two feet and dressed beautifully in black.  It even appeared that she’d put on a few   
pounds since the pictures in the dossier were taken.  Certainly she was a little more … endowed … than   
she’d been in Ireland two years ago.    
  
Ignoring his perusal for the moment, Laura turned to watch the video.  Both men were surprised to see   
the Beretta tucked into her belt at the small of her back.  Remington didn’t bother to hold back the   
merest trace of a smile at her excellent demonstration of preparedness even as chills crawled down his   
spine as his wife took in the awful images.   
  
Tony caught his look and scowled.  The two men had a staring match behind Laura’s back with Roselli   
becoming more irritated and Steele more confident as the minutes passed.  Regardless of her feelings,   
Remington knew that she would keep Roselli in the dark.  
  
When Laura had seen enough, she walked over to the machine and ejected the tape before calmly   
shutting down the equipment.  Fire crackled in her eyes, though she kept the rest of her countenance   
expressionless as she asked, “What did you think to gain by bringing this here, Tony?”  
  
“I wanted you to see what kind of person Steele really is.  I need to know what kind of game he’s   
playing with Carlisle.”   
  
Sharply, she demanded, “Do you honestly think I don’t know what is in this video?”  She held it up.    
“What kind of detective do you think I am, Tony?”   
  
Caught off-guard by her question, he rubbed the back of his neck.  “I really don’t know, Laura.  You   
have a good reputation and all, but I’ve never seen you work.  All I know is that we’ve been chasing   
Carlisle, and he landed on your doorstep with that little white box.  When he left, there was no box.  Now   
he’s on his way to Florida.  What am I supposed to make of it?”   
  
“Well, now you’ve seen what was in the box, and you know damned well by our phone records that      
we’ve had no contact with him until he walked into our agency today.”   
  
“Convenient,” he said bitterly.  
  
“Accurate,” she shot back.   
  
He rolled his eyes, annoyed by her caustic attitude.  He hadn’t seen this side of her before.  “Is she like   
this a lot, Steele?”  
  
Remington grinned.  “It’s all a part of her charm.”   
  
Laura didn’t even bother to cast a dirty look at her husband.  Instead, still holding the tape in one hand,   
she put her hands on her hips.  “What else do you want to know, Tony?”   
  
Steele could see that Roselli was becoming irritated at Laura and concealed another grin.  She had a way   
of needling a person that made him crack under pressure.  No defense in the world worked against it--  
except wit and a charming smile.   
  
Roselli cracked.  “All I want is to be able to walk out of here and honestly say that neither of you is   
involved with Carlisle.  I know that I owe you both, but I can’t let this one slide.  Buchanan’s too close   
and is pulling in every favor he’s got to take these guys down.”  Tony knew he was giving out too much   
information, but none of it was anything the Steeles couldn’t put together for themselves--and maybe   
playing it straight would give him the answers he needed.  
  
Remington ran his hand through his hair and picked up the box again, idly fingering the contents.    
“Carlisle’s mother was my great-aunt.  My mother died having me, and Johnny’s mother raised me until   
she died.  Johnny gave me to some cousins afterward--and to keep this short--I ended up in an   
orphanage.  There is no love lost between the pair of us.  He offered me a position some ten or twelve   
years ago, and I declined--knowing bloody well that it was a good idea to get the hell out of England after  
that.”   
  
Laura picked up the thread of the conversation and began pacing.  “Remington didn’t know that I'd made   
contact with Carlisle until it was done.  All I wanted was to make sure that someone as powerful as he   
didn’t come after us when Interpol closed in.  Buchanan knew that and understood.  When Carlisle came   
today, he asked for our help in getting Interpol off his back and brought the box to use as,” she threw her   
hands up, “either bribery or a goodwill gift--you decide.  I’m quite certain, though, that if he hadn’t   
needed something from us, that box would have never seen the light of day.”  
  
She dropped the tape on the wet bar before turning around and fiddling with her wedding ring.  Looking   
back at Tony, she added, “Quite frankly, it infuriates me to know that there might be other things of   
Remington’s in his possession that we’ll never see.”  Laura saw her husband’s faint puzzlement out of   
the corner of her eye.  The thought had clearly not occurred to him.   
  
Tony’s pager sounded and he checked the number.  Without asking permission, he used Steele’s phone   
to dial.  “Roselli … got it.  Stay on him and figure out where he’s going.  I’ll catch up with you shortly.”    
When he hung up, he eyed both of them as he talked--hoping to catch a hint of recognition in either of   
their expressions.  “It seems that Carlisle decided not to land in Florida after all.  His plane is headed   
toward the Bahamas.”   
  
But they were both either unaware of Carlisle’s plans or were too smart to reveal them and kept their   
faces blank.  Laura tapped her finger on her elbow as she crossed her arms and paced.  “The Bahamas   
aren’t the closest place to get out of the U.S.  It’s easier to go to Mexico from here.  Perhaps he’s trying   
to get back home?”   
  
“Perhaps.”  Giving up, Tony stood and shook his head.  “If I find out that either of you knows more   
than you’re saying about Carlisle--you both realize I will have no choice but to bring you in.”   
  
Steele pinned him with another one of those icy looks and walked over to stand behind Laura.  “I’ve   
made it my business to stay out of Carlisle’s way since I was a tot.  I’m not about to change course   
now.”  He played his trump card--just to annoy Roselli--and wrapped his arms around his wife, placing   
his hands on her belly.  “Especially not now.”  
  
Laura pinked and her expression softened as she dropped her hands to cover his.  Roselli blanched.    
“You’re … gonna have his kid?”  
  
She laughed at his indignity and Remington grinned with pride.   
  
But Tony had another thought and flushed with anger.  “You let your pregnant wife come with you when   
you had no idea who was breaking into your office?  That’s a good way to get her dead, Steele.”  
  
In response, Steele called out, “Carter?”  Kaleb pushed the door open with his elbow, revealing that he   
was still holding his weapon on Roselli from where he was crouched on the floor.  “I don’t let Laura do   
anything.  She and our associate were covering me.”   
  
Tony flinched.  He hadn’t thought that Steele would be astute enough to have that kind of backup.  He   
only shook his head and went to retrieve the tape from the bar, but Laura placed her hand on his as he   
moved to pick it up.  “No.  It stays here.”  
  
“Laura-“  
  
“No, Tony.  No one will ever use it against us again.  If it’s needed for evidence, we’ll bring it to the   
court.  But until that day, should it ever come, the tape stays here.”  Leveling a firm look at him, she   
insisted, “You owe us that, Tony.”   
  
Swearing under his breath, he moved his hand away to hold it out to Steele.  “I’m sure you’ll understand   
when I tell you I hope our paths don’t cross again.”   
  
Remington took it.  “My sentiments exactly, Antony.”   
  
He eyed Laura for a long minute.  “Good luck, Mrs. Steele.”  He kissed her on the cheek and left before   
her husband could aim another punch at his chin.  Carter followed him all the way out of the building.   
  
  
  
Laura turned in Remington’s arms.  “You didn’t know I’d seen the video.”  The barest nod of his head   
acknowledged the truth.  
  
Firmly, she shut down the flow of images from what she’d seen and kept her eyes on his.  “It didn’t   
seem fair that you would have to live with the memories while I didn’t.  I saw the whole thing before we   
left Ireland.  I know exactly what we did … to each other.”  She rushed through the last words.  Steele’s   
eyes flickered away and back to her, but she saw the dark anguish in them anyway.  
  
New understanding had her widening her eyes.  “That’s what you’ve been afraid of--that I didn’t know   
and would leave you if I ever found out.  That’s what you meant by being trapped.”  Those steady blue   
eyes stayed pinned to her as she took his fear and threw it away.  “I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Steele.”  
  
Remington crushed Laura to him and held on, relief and love washing away his anger at last.

 

 


	13. Epilogue

Denis O’Callaghan’s henchmen were each sentenced to multiple consecutive life terms in Ireland for their crimes.  True to James Buchanan’s word, the kidnappings of Remington and Laura Steele were never introduced as evidence during the well-publicized trials.  
  
Some years later, after the remaining members of the Dublin Six were imprisoned on equally lengthy sentences and the appeals processes for each were exhausted, Remington quietly destroyed the only video-taped evidence in existence.  


End file.
